


I Never Said I Was Brave

by Halequinne



Series: Travel!Verse [1]
Category: Bandom, My Chemical Romance
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Alternate Universe - Time Travel, Artists, Drug Addiction, F/M, Graphic Sex, Infidelity, M/M, Marriage, Parents & Children, Underage Character, Work In Progress
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2011-12-19
Updated: 2013-07-16
Packaged: 2017-10-27 13:13:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 15
Words: 146,253
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/296228
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Halequinne/pseuds/Halequinne
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Frank is a time traveler. His life is splitting off in different directions and everything he thought he could count on is being left behind as he's dragged into other people's time lines, further and further away from his own.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Division I

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “How old are you?” Gerard asks him in a quizzical tone and Frank has to wrack his brain to remember.
> 
> “Twenty-three?” he hazards. It's hard to tell, it's not like calendars are even relevant to him anymore.

He wakes up alone, sprawled shivering on the back porch of some house. The cold boards dig into him as he coughs hard, hacking and unable to catch his breath. Bile burns his throat and he’s cold. Really cold. There is not much light from anything; from what he can see it’s overcast and about five in the morning, the approaching dawn just starting to tint the horizon. He pulls himself into the fetal position, squeezing his eyes shut and willing himself away from this place. The pot plants are familiar, as is the fence that surrounds the property. His body continues to be racked with shivers and coughs that bring blood and bile into his mouth.

The security light turns on and he can hear footsteps approaching. The door opens and a voice suddenly addresses him.

“Frankie? Oh god,” it says and there are hands on him, but he keeps his eyes closed, tears burning his eyes and leaking out as the soft hands caress down his side and shoulder. More coughs erupt as the person kneels down and hugs him awkwardly. Frank eventually opens his eyes and the person pulls back, silhouetted against the bright lights from inside.

“Come inside” the voice commands gently, helping him to stand on his shaky legs. He contemplates saying no and staying out, but it’s cold and already he can feel his muscles stiffening in a way that will be problematic later on. He is guided inside through the sliding doors, looking around the familiar house, swallowing against the vomit that keeps threatening to come up. His throat burns again. He turns and looks at her, wearing her flannel pajama bottoms and a black singlet top. She looks relieved and concerned at the same time and hands him a pair of sweats.

He pulls them on gratefully, coughing and dry retching when he bends over. Her hands are suddenly back on him, steering him towards the kitchen where he spits the bile out, hating the burn of it on his already raw throat. A glass of water is held under his nose and he takes it, washing his mouth out and drinking deeply before refilling it himself. He takes deep breaths before turning around to face her. She's older and looks tired, her arms crossed over her chest defensively.

“I missed you,” she whispers the words as though afraid to speak them any louder.

“Don't,” he replies when she takes a step towards him. She freezes as he draws in a shaky breath. “Don't say that.”

“Oh,” she replies, taking another step closer. “What am I meant to say, Frankie? That I'm fucking someone else? That they’re upstairs right now?”

He winces and turns away from her.

She takes the few steps closer to him, one hand gently placed on his chin, turning his head around to meet her gaze. “I missed you,” she tells him firmly before standing on her tip toes and planting a small kiss on the tip of his nose.

His throat tightens and he can feel tears coming again. He pushes the emotions aside, too tired to get angry with himself for feeling them.

“Come upstairs when you’re ready,” she tells him gently, withdrawing her hand and stepping back. “There are clean towels in the bathroom.” She turns and walks away. He tries not to stare after her, feeling more like an intruder in her life rather than a part of it anymore.

He throws up in the sink again, rinsing it down before heading to the bathroom.

The hot water feels nice against his aching back and legs. There are different soaps and shampoos from the last few times he’s been here. He picks up each one, smelling it, trying to get reacquainted with the woman from this time. One of the bottles smells like strawberries, another like menthol and peppermint and another like vanilla. He squirts a little of the vanilla smelling one onto the navy loofah and brings it to a lather against his chest. It feels good. So good. God, he had missed it here; missed her. But this time was different to what he had experienced in this house before. Usually she was much younger or older. He doesn’t know anything about this time. He sticks his head under the running water, letting the sound fill his ears.

He eventually turns off the tap, standing there uncertainly. His stomach rumbles loudly as he dries himself down, wincing at the new bruises blossoming across his skin. He pulls on the sweats again, cringing against the pain as he does so. She’s left the lights on downstairs. There are photos on the walls and different pillows on the couches. He wanders back out and into the kitchen, gingerly opening cupboards in search of food that will hopefully stay in his stomach. He grabs a granola bar and washes it down with two glasses of water, turning the lights off as he heads upstairs to the bedroom.

He can see her lying in bed; dark hair sprawled across the pillow. She turns the lamp on and rolls over when she hears him approaching, her face a mix of emotions.

He takes a deep breath and coughs again, the same hacking cough. Damnit. When the fit subsides he glances around the room. Like the lounge, it’s familiar with only the small details changed. He tries to capture it all is his memory for next time but his head is already too full. He finally sits down on the edge on the bed and just looks at her.

She hazards a smile before asking if he’s tired or wants to watch a movie or something. He is tired – exhausted – he always is. He tells her so and lies down on top of the covers.

“Where have you been?” she asks quietly, even though Frank knows she never likes any of the answers he gives her. He sighs before lying to her again.

“With mom and dad, I watched myself play on the swings with them” he tells her, unblinkingly. It was partially the truth; he has been there recently.

She nods and buys his lie because she knows it will be easier than hearing the truth.

“Where’s Sweet Pea?” he asks, curious. There’s no sign of her downstairs.

She looks at him and the tears that were only threatening before begin to fall down her cheeks and over the bridge of her nose. His chest tightens uncomfortably, knowing whatever she is going to say is not going to be good.

“Someone hit her, Frankie,” she whispers. “I'm sorry but she's gone.”

He closes his eyes, knowing that this present was too good so far to be true. It’s his own fault. He had become attached. Mostly to her. He hates knowing how alone she is. They’ve fought so many times over the exact subject until one day she when she will come home with Sweet Pea. Fuck.

He coughs again, using up all of energy as they wrack through him.

“I'm sorry,” she whispers again, not reaching out to touch him.

He eventually opens his eyes and pulls the heavy blankets over him, shivering slightly before he relaxes into the familiar scents of her.

Only then does she reach out, caressing his shoulder softly. He moves closer to her as she takes him in her arms. He is home and he at last falls asleep.

*

He awakes to the bright morning sun streaming down. He doesn't move or open his eyes, not yet. He lies there inhaling the warm smells of vanilla and lavender. He can hear her downstairs, the stereo is on and the Beatles are playing. There is the smell of bagels and coffee in the air. He continues to lie there in the bed, just breathing, despite his stomach grumbling loudly. He can hear her singing along to a band that he has seen play live, many times over. Eventually his stomach wins out and he gently sits up. He is stiff and the bruises from last night are now livid and bright against his tattooed skin. He looks up suddenly as she walks up the stairs and into the room, a tray balanced in her careful hands. _She is an angel,_ he decides quickly as she smiles at him, placing the tray on his lap before straightening the pillows so he can lean back. The food and coffee smell overwhelmingly good and he tucks into them straight away. She wanders around to the end of the bed and watches him with careful, sad eyes.

The food is good, the bagels grilled on both sides just the way he likes them. The way she knows he likes them. The coffee is even better and he can't help but smile. She bits her lip and looks away, fiddling with the ending of the duvet.

“Thank you,” he tells her when he has finished everything on the tray, wiping his mouth on the napkin she provided. She takes the tray away with a silent nod and heads back downstairs as the track changes to Eleanor Rigby. He snuggles back down under the blankets but does not close his eyes. Looking instead around the room, trying to make sense of all the new additions. There is a framed picture of her with Sweet Pea and another with her friends. There are also new perfume bottles and he is curious if he will like their smell. She has changed the curtains and the pillows are new but already filled with her smell. A photo on the mirror catches his attention and his heart races.

He leaps out of bed and rips it off. It's a photograph of him. He stares at it, stroking his fingers over his own face. He tries to remember the time it was taken. But he can't. In the photo he is looking to the right, his legs crossed. His jeans are ripped and strained with blood at the knees, duct tape around one of them. It was old, his hands were bare and his did not have his knuckle tattoos yet. His breath catches when he sees the ring on his fourth finger of his left hand. Without thinking his hands open her jewelry box, digging through earrings and necklaces and rings that are not his. It is not there. His heart races in his chest and he feels sick and wants to break things. He frowns, opening other boxes scattered on her vanity, still searching. Nothing. Frustrated and hurt he scatters everything on her vanity, smashing the fragile containers to the ground, the photograph still in his hand, and heads downstairs ready for the confrontation.

She’s in the kitchen, washing up from breakfast, keeping herself occupied on purpose. At first she does not notice him as she stacks the wet dishes. Impatient, he clears his throat. She turns quickly too him, her eyes large as though surprised by his presence.

“What the fuck is this, Jamia?” he demands harshly, holding the photograph up. They’ve talked about this. How she is not allowed to keep things like that around. Not only could they be problematic if anyone asked about them, but they also served as reminders: reminders of how he could not be there for her; reminders of how much a failure he was even when he was there.

She stares at him like a stranger, an invader.

“What does it looks like?” she replies, wiping her soapy hands on a towel.

He screws his eyes shut, trying to calm his breathing. “We've talked about this,” he tells her through gritted teeth, opening his eyes again.

“I found it okay! Stop acting like it's going to end the world,” she says, voice rising, before returning to the dishes.

“Found it?” he yells back, stepping closer to her. She is not fearful or even very upset by the situation and he suddenly feels like shit. He lowers his head, placing the photo on the bench, out of reach of the water. “I'm sorry,” he tells her, wrapping his arms around her and pulling her against him. She doesn't fight him but she doesn't meet his eyes either until he turns her head so that she is facing him. Her eyes are wary and he doesn't like it, doesn't like knowing he’s the reason. “I'm sorry,” he tells her again and presses his lips to her forehead. Her soapy wet hands are now around his back, sending small drips down onto his sweats but he doesn't care.

“It's okay,” she tells him, even though he knows it's not.

“Where’s my ring?” he asks her, his lips trailing down to her ear, enjoying the sensation as she shudders against him slightly. She pulls back and pulls something off her own hand and slips it onto his finger. For this moment, he is hers and she is his. He looks at it, bubbles and wet against his hand before looking at her. Of course she had been wearing it. She always does when he’s away.

“I was scared I’d lose it otherwise,” She murmurs softly, despite knowing that it was neither expensive nor hard to replace. He nods and pulls her back into his embrace, bending his head down slightly so that his lips can meet hers. She kisses him back eagerly, her hands entangling themselves into his hair. He shudders slightly as the water on them drips down his neck but he doesn’t push her away. Instead he pulls her closer as she moans deliciously in his ear. The stereo continues to play and outside a car alarm is wailing. He tugs her singlet top off, letting his hands trail down her breasts before letting his mouth follow; learning and discovering her all over again. She has gotten smaller, her hipbones jutting out of her soft skin, her ribs obvious under his fingertips. She pulls his mouth back up to hers, tugging on his lower lip while her hands move against his body, feeling the lines of ink which flow in every direction and the taut muscles under his olive skin. His hazel eyes open, staring into her milk chocolate depths as he pushes his tongue into her mouth. She moans, teasing him with the tip of her own. Her hands move down, pulling down her pajama pants and then his sweats before wrapping her fingers around his already hard cock. He moans before pushing her down to the cool linoleum. Her hair fans out darkly behind her. It’s longer now, but still as straight as it has ever been. She pulls her hand away, raising it to her mouth and spiting into his before returning it to his throbbing cock. Burying his face in her neck, he gently pushes against her, feeling her spread out beneath him, like always. He inhales sharply as he makes it all the way inside her. She is hot and wet around him as her legs hook themselves onto his back and her mouth plants small kisses and licks around his neck and ear. She moans loudly and sweetly as he fucks her on the kitchen floor, her nipples hard against his chest. He has missed her. Missed this. Missed everything about their here and now. Her hands move down and grab his ass, encouraging him to go faster, harder. He obliges.

He comes too early, like always when he first arrives in a time. The orgasm rushes through him, making his head explode and his vision fill with stars. He shudders, lying on her for a moment before pulling out and kissing down her torso, flicking his tongue over areas he knows she likes, like the outline of her hips and between her thighs. He eventually moves between her legs, playfully licking, nibbling and sucking until her body arches and she comes against his tongue, her hands entangled in his hair. She collapses against the floor as he kisses his way back up, running his tongue and hands over her body, marveling at how soft her skin is and how it stretches over her bones. She’s different to the last time: noticeably thinner, causing her clothes to hang loosely on her in a way he has seen only a few times, like right before prom. He kisses up her neck, licking at her until she turns and presses her lips against him, tasting both of them on his tongue. She kisses him deeply before pulling away and gathering her clothes that have been scattered on the floor. It’s while he stands and began to pull his sweats back on when she gasps, her hands flying to his torso and legs.

“Frankie!” she whispers, concerned and horrified as she spies the bruises on him. He shrugs her hands off and pulls his pants on completely, wishing he had put on a shirt. She continues to sit there, staring up at him. “What happened?” she finally chokes out.

He doesn't meet her eyes. “Rough present,” he tells her, not willing to go into the details. He instead turns to the fridge, opening it and taking a bottle of juice out, unscrewing the lid before he offers it to her first. She shakes her head and begins to redress. He shrugs and drinks deeply. She stares at him, biting her lip. She is worried, how could she not be? He’s been gone for _months_ and now here he is, covered in bruises and more ink than she’s seen before. Not that she minded the tattoos. They were her idea to start with. She was fifteen and they were sitting in her room, her parents out at work. He was young, his hair in stupid dreadlocks and he was telling her about meeting his great grandfather. She had not believed him at first until one day he stopped coming around. Then, two months later, he showed up in the middle of the night in her garden, naked, shivering and throwing up into her mother’s rose bushes. She’d helped his shave his head later as he cried about not being about to take anything with him, no ID, no phone, no pictures of the ones he loved. That night she drew her name and the names of his family down his arms. The next week he was gone. She continued to go to school and hang out with her friends but always found herself wishing for his return, which he always made happen.

“It's like having rubber bands wrapped around you. They pull you to certain times, places and people. Sometimes good, sometimes not,” he had tried to explain once to the six year old Jamia looking expectantly up at him from the sandpit at the local park.

He’d woken her up not long after her seventeenth birthday by throwing rocks at her window once, shivering in the cold. She had raced downstairs, half tripping over shoes and other objects and into the yard. She’d blushed, he was naked but his skin was now alive with color and patterns that were half washed out in the pale moonlight that bathed him. He smiled at her as she led him inside before her parents could wake.

She blinks, coming back to the present. The present where he is standing in her kitchen, not talking to her and drinking juice straight from the bottle. He glances over to her and puts the bottle back into the fridge, not saying anything.

“Were you with your younger self again?” she asks him looking at the marks on his skin again, just as he turns his back to walk away from her and head back upstairs.

He stiffens before turning. “Not this time,” he tells her and she knows that it is the end of the conversation. He decides against going back to bed and heads to the shower instead. The house seems so empty without the dog and he almost vows to get her another one. He eventually emerges and walks briskly upstairs. Jamia is sitting on the floor surrounded by her possessions that he had smashed off their shelves. He contemplates heading back downstairs but she has already seen him.

“Your clothes are in the draws,” she reminds him with a wave in that direction as she picks up her scattered jewelry and perfume bottles. He pulls open the draw and quickly digs out clothes of some description, hastily pulling them on. She is still dressed in her pajamas despite it now being two o'clock in the afternoon. He feels guilty and swallows hard against the assault of emotions of seeing her sitting there. He kneels beside her, helping to pick up the scattered pieces of her life, the life he had no right to be intruding in.

“I'm so sorry,” he tells her honestly and all she does is nod. The pictures frames are smashed and there is glass in the carpet. He gets to his feet and heads downstairs in search of the vacuum cleaner. He finds it finally in the laundry, tucked away in a cupboard in the house he had brought for them, despite it being filled with more of her possessions than his own.

He lays on the bed when they have finished cleaning, waiting for Jamia to have a shower, staring at the ceiling and wondering how long he is going to stay for this time; it feels like a while. He wiggles on the blankets, his ribs aching under his shirt. The beating had been ruthless and all he can do is hope that somewhere in the future Gerard is okay, that he has made it safely home. A lump sits in his throat and in his stomach, heavy and immovable. It’s such a fucked up situation and there is nothing he can do. He’s never been able to stay anywhere for longer than about six months, and the longer he does stay, the longer it seems to take to get back to that time again.

He plays absentmindedly with his wedding ring, turning it around and around. He’s made so many promises to her, but lately he has begun to question pretty much all of them. The memory of the flowers she’d held in the registers office were blurred now, as was her face, or how longer her hair was, giving way to other memories. A tear makes its way down his face but he makes no move to wipe it. He hears the shower turn off and knows it will be only moments until she is back up here with him. For once he wishes he could disappear to another time and place; maybe go back to when they were happy, or forward and see her have a life, with him standing outside what used to be their house and watch her kiss another man’s cheek as she set the table inside. He grits he teeth. No, as much as he wishes he could watch her move on and find happiness, he can't. He knows he is selfish, which is why he allowed her to place the ring on his finger in the first place. The ring he can never take with him, the ring he did not ink into his skin so that he doesn’t have to. It hurts him to know that she is not his future, but he suspects that it hurts her more. Yet she stayed and he had no idea why.

He hears he footsteps softly on the stairs, so different to his grandmother’s heavy footfalls and even to Gerard's careful but firm movements. He feels guilty for even thinking his name in this house, but he can't help but wonder what he is doing over thirty years from this day.

“Hey,” she says softly, entering the room, a towel wrapped around her head and another around her body, making him wonder if she even eats anything any more.

“Hey,” he replies, sitting up onto his elbows to watch her. “I'm sorry about how I'm acting, you know…” he trails off as she tells him she knows. She has always known, since she was little and he first appeared on her street, lost and disorientated and dressed in Mr. Higgins’ clothes.

“So, are you working at the moment?” he asks her, watching as she dresses. He feels like he has been so out of touch with her life lately.

She nods. “Yeah, at Eyeball records actually” she tells him, biting her lip and watching his face. She knows his dream has always been to play music but the whole disappearing act and showing up decades in the future or the past tends to make the concept of holding a job or band together problematic.

“Wow! That's awesome!” he exclaims, wondering how much else has changed for her.

“I called in sick for the next couple of days. How long do you–” she begins before taking a breath to continue “How long until your gone?”

He looks down at his hands, glancing at the cuts in his palms from the bottle that was smashed over his head as he tried to defend himself. “A while I think, I don't know. Everything feels fairly solid, so longer than a week,” he tells her and she smiles.

“It's nice to have you home,” she says and it’s the truth, all she had been given over the past year were a couple of hours here and there. He makes a happy noise in the back of his throat and smiles back at her.

They spend most of the next few days in bed together, only really getting up for food and to shower. Jamia eventually has to return to work and Frank is left alone in the house. He keeps himself busy playing guitar and going for runs to keep his muscles in some form of working order. By the end of the week he has relaxed into the happy charade of the husband. By the end of the week he is feeling insubstantial and knows it’s only a matter of time before he is gone again. It happens while they are eating dinner on the sofa; Jamia leaning her head on his shoulder, playing with the vegetarian spaghetti on her plate as he takes big mouthfuls. The TV is playing The Goonies. He places his plate on the floor and feels as though his bones have been replaced by Jell-o. The plate drops the rest of the way to the floor and his cutlery bounces as well, splattering sauce on them. Jamia looks up at him in surprise, quickly discarding her own plate and pulling his body against hers as if the simple act would make him stay longer. He doesn't fight the gut wrenching sensations, merely closing his eyes and muttering, “I love you,” as he fades.

She waits a minute, biting her lips until she folds his now empty but still warm clothes on the sofa beside her. “I love you too,” she tells the empty house, feeling guiltily relieved.

*

Frank awakes coughing and retching in some back alleyway. He is somewhere strange and urban, piles of trash scattered everywhere and the smell is overwhelming. He staggers to his feet and moves behind a dumpster. It is early morning wherever the hell he is. He swears as the cold bites into him and he begins to shiver uncontrollably. He is not there for long before the familiar sensations creep over him and he is gone again.

*

The coughs are violent and tear his throat raw, hacking and uncontrollable. He hates it but the burn of the bile is worse. He coughs and spits under the bright, warm sun overhead. He can hear birds chipping and the sounds of radios playing. He glances around his surroundings, they are familiar and with a sinking feeling he knows exactly what is about to happen. Sure enough, the minute he peers around the shrubbery he is concealed behind he can see his dad leaving for the last time. When he was little he always imagined that his dad had left in the middle of the night, like a thief. Instead the man is walking out with two suitcases in the middle of the day while a younger Frank is at school. He coughs again and spits up the bile before looking back up to see his dad drive away. He sits back into the shrubbery and brings his knees to his chest. There is nothing he can do to change the scene; god knows he's tried, what feels like hundreds or thousands of times. But nothing works. He can hear his mom close the door a few minutes later with a saddening click and he longs to be there to comfort her. He knows he can't, in this present moment she has no idea that her son, her only child, is a time traveler and at this moment is watching the scene unfold as a twenty something year old. Still his chest aches with longing and loneliness. He knows that he is going to be here for several hours and with a sigh he crawls out of his hiding place in search of clothes. He hops the James' fence with ease; grateful that Mrs. James has washed her husband’s clothes today and not her daughters. Later in the future he buys them a new car and leaves a pile of new clothes in the back seat; he has seen it. He pulls a pair of brown corduroy pants and a t-shirt off the clothesline and quickly returns to his nest in the bushes to pull them on. It’s a familiar dance, one that he knows the moves to off by heart. He knows that he has a few hours before the younger Frank finishes school. When he is dressed he goes for a walk. The neighbors stare at his tattoos, whispering to each other that he must be a sailor to get them so young. No one says hello except for dear old Betty who is bent over, weeding her garden.

“Can I help, Ma'am?” he asks her, leaning on her fence. She beams up at him and he is grateful that her eyesight is no longer what it used to be. She places the kitchen fork down that she has been using and tells him that she would indeed love some help from such a strapping young lad. He unhitches the gate, its latch familiar under his slowly healing palms. Gardening does not ease the hurt of seeing his dad leave for the hundredth time, but it helps. Especially when Betty brings him lemonade. Real lemonade. He sculls half of it before savoring the rest. Her lemons are the best and she uses just the right amount of honey to sweeten it. He finds himself wishing that Jamia could taste just how good it is and his heart squeezes knowing that she is not even born yet. Betty gives him a top up before getting back down on her worn old knees to continue weeding around her pansies. Later Frank mows the lawns for her, the sweat pouring off him in the summer heat. Like the clothes, this too is such a comfortingly familiar dance for him. She invites him to stay for supper but he makes an excuse and leaves in time to see a far younger Frank wander down the street, kicking at stones. Frank crosses the street with a jog.

“Hey!” he says, grinning down at his younger self.

The younger Frank smiles back at him. “Hey! Are we hanging out today?” he asks him.

Frank nods his head and they head to the park a few blocks behind their house. They sit on the picnic table as the younger Frank pulls out a packet of cigarettes that Frank knows he has taken from their mom. He takes one thankfully however and lights up using the matches that younger Frank digs out for him. They are stronger than the ones in the future and thankfully taste more like tobacco than chemicals. Young Frank watches him curiously before sparking up one of his own. Usually Frank tells him off but not today. They sit there in silence before Frank starts to speak.

“Dad left,” he says in hushed tones, biting his lip and taking another drag. He tilts his head back and exhales to the bright blue sky.

“Oh,” the younger Frank replies, crushing his cigarette on the table and lets it drop to the ground.

“Mom is going to be upset when you get home,” Frank explains. It is better to let him know now then finding out when he gets home. He knows from experience. The younger Frank sits in silence and tries not to cry. He does not ask about the future or the past like usual, or what the latest comics are. “I'm sorry,” he tells his younger self before reaching into his bag for another cigarette. He can't help himself from pulling out and looking at the books crammed into his bag; mathematics and English. He flicks through them, seeing that his younger self is doing well but he knows how that will change from this day onwards. He pulls a pencil from the bottom of the bag and begins to draw in the back of his English book. He is nowhere near as good an artist as Gerard, but he manages to draw a fairly decent Batman killing an evil horde of zombies. Younger Frank peeks over his shoulder curious and elated. He hands it back to him with a smile. He feels funny and knows it's almost time.

The younger Frank nods at him and picks up his bag and turns to leave. “Hug her,” he tells him and the kid replies that he will as he turns to leave. He draws in a shaky breath and feels his body dissolve beneath him and he is gone. The younger Frank turns and looks at the pile of clothes on the table for a second before running home. Hoping and praying the older Frank was wrong.

*

The gravel presses hard against him as he retches and coughs, quickly looking around at his unfamiliar surroundings. The skyline is very similar to the one he can usually see from his and Jamia's house but he knows he isn't there. He scrabbles to his feet, almost falling over. It is morning he thinks and he needs to find clothes. He crouches down behind a convenient trash bin and watches people pass occasionally in front of him. He spots a guy about his size, maybe taller, carrying a briefcase and dressed semi casually and Frank takes a quick deep breath knowing that this is his chance. He jumps out, grabbing the guy in a sleeper hold and dragging him back. The guy resists futility for a second before he falls unconscious. Frank makes quick work of stealing his clothes and checking his wallet. Some Joe Nobody, but he’s carrying a bit in cash. He removes the cash and the credit cards and wanders out into the street where everyone is blissfully unaware of what has just taken place. He feels guilty; he always does as he knows its only a temporary thing anyway, hardly worth mugging people for, but the other alternative is that someone inevitably calls the cops, who turn up and haul his naked ass to jail. And jail really sucks. He hates jail almost as much as he hates his father at this moment.

Frank follows the small trail of people towards the city and he wonders what year it is. He contemplates heading back to his house, but he is not sure if it's even his house yet, or anymore. The only thing that really marks the passage of the years is the technology people are using and how short women’s skirts are. He looks at the unfamiliar shops that line the streets here and longs to get hold of a newspaper. He stalls in front of a newsagent’s store, hopeful. He goes inside and buys a paper using the stolen notes. He quickly scans for the date as he bites his bottom lip, feeling the scar where his lip ring used to be and wonders why the fuck he is here and not at home like usual.

He steps out of the small shop and gets hit by some blond haired lady, her young son in hand. He apologizes and stares. Those eyes! As they walk away he follows them, trailing at a safe distance, keeping the paper in front of him like a regular businessman. They get on a bus and he does too, his heart hammering in his chest. He knows he shouldn't be doing this, especially not during a time when he could be at home with Jamia. But he gets off at the same stop and pauses, watching them walk the rest of the way to a familiar house not too far from the bus stop. He sits down and watches the house for a while, running a hand through his hair which is in dire need of a cut. The child appears in the yard finally. He cannot be any older than three. His voice catches in his throat and he wants to run over to the boy who will later grow into the man he falls in love with.

“Gerard,” the name comes out in a whisper. The young boy picks at the sticks in his yard. He cannot see Frank. His mom calls him in after a few minutes, opening the door and reveling a pregnant stomach he doesn’t know how he missed before that causes his stomach to sink with longing. He wants kids, but he knows that whenever he had been in the future there was no evidence of such a thing eventuating. The young Gerard runs inside as the sky begins to darken slightly and a fat droplet of rain hits Frank on the head. He glances up in surprise as more fall and he ducks under the bus shelter.

He catches the next bus that comes into the city and then another one out to his house in the suburbs. By the time he arrives it is dark and has a pounding headache, surprised that he made it as far as he did. The lights are on and he guiltily knocks on the door. It takes a moment before he hears footsteps approaching.

 _Hurry!_ he thinks to himself as he feels his body starting to dissolve. Jamia opens the door, dressed in one of his old t-shirts and he falls in the door against her, feeling her warmth pressed against him for a second until he is swept away and she is left with a pile of some else’s clothes and a scattering of dollar bills. She pulls the unfamiliar pants and shirt inside and shuts the door, collapsing against it in angry tears. She has waited for two months for any sign of him and he is gone before she can even kiss him. She sits there, crying and holding the shirt that now smells like him to her face, inhaling as Social Distortion plays quietly on the stereo. She misses him and knows there is no way that she can change anything about their come and go relationship. She has lain in bed at night thinking about moving on but she cannot bring herself to even box his stuff. Let alone throw it out and say it to his face. He has always just been there, at the best of times and at the worst of times; always frightfully unpredictable. She knows that he spends a lot of time in the future where there is no Jamia and Frank, just Frank. She also knows about Gerard, who is in his future where she is not. She squeezes her eyes shut, letting her head fall backwards against the heavy wooden door.

*

He is lying in the hallway, the stupid Persian rug itchy underneath him. He tries to draw in a breath that won't make him cough but he is unsuccessful and he ends up choking instead. Footsteps approach him and firm hands haul him to his feet as he retches and his head spins wildly.

“Fuck, Frankie,” the voice says as he throws up into the toilet, the porcelain cold against his hands as he grips it. The owner of the voice is gently pulling his hair back with one hand, the other rubbing his shaking back. He spits the last of the contents of his stomach into the bowl and flushes. He resists the urge to lay his head down against the cool surface for comfort as the hands continue to rub his back soothingly. After a while he leans back into them, glancing up at a disheveled looking Gerard, complete with paint splashed across one cheek and in his black tangled mess of hair. Gerard smiles down at him and Frank cannot help but beam back as his smiles are unbelievably infectious.

“How old are you?” Gerard asks him in a quizzical tone and Frank has to wrack his brain to remember.

“Twenty-three?” he hazards. It's hard to tell, it's not like calendars are even relevant to him anymore.

Gerard just grins again. “My little toy boy,” he teases, helping him to stand and pulls him into a hug, his hand still tracing small circles on his back. His stubble scratches against Frank's cheek but he doesn't care. He sighs deeply as Gerard's hands move to his neck, rubbing away the stress that has been building in there. He eventually pulls away, drinking in the sight of a young and very tired looking Frank. He takes his hand and leads him to the kitchen. “Food first,” Gerard instructs him, pushing him down into a chair that wasn't currently occupied by books or painting paraphernalia. Gerard hunts for a clean bowl before resigning himself to the fact that no such thing exists and rinses out one that contains the remnants of some old ramen.

“Shit Gerard!” Frank swears, shaking his head and watching the older man. He is ignored but he doesn't mind. Gerard places a bowl of cereal in front of him and he eagerly eats all of it, including a second helping. Gerard watches him, studying him and Frank wonders what he is planning on painting now. “I saw you,” Frank tells him, pushing his bowl away. “When you were like three. Your mom was pregnant with Mikey.”

“Oh?” Gerard asks, interested. To his knowledge this is the first time Frank has ever seen him so young but he knows it won't be the last. He can't help but blush a little, the color bright against his pale skin.

“It was autumn, I followed you home on the bus and watched you play in the yard,” he admits, smiling at the fresh memory before adding softly, “it was nice, really nice”.

Gerard's hands lace themselves into Frank's strong tattooed ones, drawing the shorter man to stand before planting a kiss to his forehead. “You know, it's kind sexy thinking that all this time you have been stalking me. Creepy, but sexy,” Gerard tells him as Frank squirms slightly, wriggling one hand out so he can gesture crazily with it.

“This is the first time!” he exclaims defensively as Gerard laughs, a high-pitched, happy sound that echoes through the apartment. Gerard kisses him again, this time on the lips and Frank cannot help himself from standing up onto his tip toes so he can press his lips harder against Gerard's slightly chapped ones. The second he pulls away he feels guilty and in dire need of a shower. He remembers that this house only has a bath.

“Bath time then sleep?” Gerard asks him, reading his brain like always. Frank nods and detaches himself, padding towards the bathroom. It is only when he turns the taps on does he realize that he has in fact been naked the whole time. The thought that it never bothered him makes him smile as he watches the bath slowly fill.

*

There is silence throughout the apartment except for Gerard's humming as he adds tiny brush strokes to the canvas he is working on. He pauses and listens. There are no sounds from the bathroom and for one horrible second his stomach plummets and images of Frank drowned in his tub fill his head. He hurries to the bathroom, pushing the door aside to revel a sleeping Frank. Steam is still floating off the water. He sinks down beside the bath in sheer relief and just looks. Frank has been coming more and more frequently. Mostly older than this and Gerard already knows the designs and the feel of the tattoos he will get at some point, using his own body as a personal photo album.

The bruises against his skin are startling, still deep, mottled red, purple and green. Gerard remembers one night several years ago where Frank defended him and for his efforts got several bottles smashed against him as well as various fists. _Could he have just come from there?_ he wonders, looking for more proof. On Frank's hands are half healed tattoos reading “Hopeless Romantic” between his thumb and forefingers on both hands. He remembers taking him to get them inked the day before the fight. He had stood outside, smoking and avoiding the needles. Frank had burst out afterwards, jumping up and throwing his arms around Gerard's neck and feverishly kissing him before leaping down from the taller man and proudly showing off his new addition.

“I fucking love the 'Souls, ya know?” he had told Gerard a hundred times, pressing play on the laptop and gesturing frantically with a cigarette clasped in his left hand. Gerard liked, no, loved the music Frank made him download from decades before his own time. Gerard was almost thirty-five at the time. Now, as he sits watching the rhythmic rise and fall of his lover's chest, he is thirty-nine and he feels old. He studies Frank's face and knows he could watch him for days, not just hours. He blushes to remember the first time he remembers meeting Frank. He was almost five and the other kids at the park were teasing him because of his hair and out of date t-shirt. Frank had strolled over; looking menacing with his tattoos and gruff facial hair despite his height and wearing clothes about three sizes too big for his small frame. He swore loudly at the kids and they scattered like cockroaches in the light. Gerard had not known whether to run as well or grin. His nervous system chose the later. The strange man turned and smiled back at him, offering his hand to shake and introduced himself as Frank. He did not say anything about where he had come from or how long he was staying.

Gerard found out one day after he had snuck him into his bedroom, the basement, and Frank had disappeared in front of him, leaving nothing but a pile of warm clothes. Since then he had been coming and going as unexpectedly as the first time and Gerard was exceptionally glad he worked from home.

Gerard lets his hand dangle into the water, playing with the remaining bubbles absentmindedly, his eyes still on Frank who is frowning in his sleep. Gerard thinks it is one of his most endearing characteristics and perfect for someone like him who is practically nocturnal. He is perfect.

Gerard raises his hand to Frank's chest, hating to wake him but the water is getting cold and Frank's fingers and toes are completely pruned. Frank wakes with a start, violently throwing himself forward against Gerard's open palm, his eyes opening wide and panicked before he realizes where he is.

“Easy tiger,” Gerard laughs and Frank's cheeks color subtly under his olive complexion.

“Sorry,” he apologizes, blinking against the light now assaulting his vision. Gerard laughs again before standing and pulling a towel from the rail and handing it to the now dripping wet Frank, who takes it with mumbled thanks. He dries quickly and wraps the towel around his waist, his hand then lacing through Gerard's and leading him to Gerard's bedroom. It is crammed with books and old movie posters and paintings, like a cave. Frank smiles in spite of himself and begins looking for a pair of sweats or something. Not that he particularly cares about being dressed. Gerard finds a pair faster and he throws them to him. They are grey and, like everything else Gerard seems to own, they have paint on them. He shrugs and pulls them on, discarding the towel to the floor.

“Coffee?” Gerard asks as he leaves the room, it's more of a statement than a question but Frank nods anyway before crawling into the bed, pulling the covers over him. He is comfortable and exhausted, he wants to close his eyes again but he knows the coffee Gerard makes is more than worth staying awake for. He doesn't disappoint. The cup is hot in his hands and he inhales the delicious creamy smell with its hint of spices. Gerard sits beside him, still fully clothed with his feet tucked into the blanket, sipping gently from his mug. Frank makes contented noises as he takes the first mouthful. It’s good. Far better than anything else he has ever tasted in the past and he wishes he could take it with him whenever he travels, but he knows he can't.

Gerard doesn't ask about the bruises or about the past, instead he tells Frank about his latest exhibition, and how, if Frank were able to stay for longer this time, he would love for him to come to the opening of the next. Frank is unsure, but Gerard tells him that he has been to opening nights before and enjoyed it.

Frank eventually drains his cup and he sets it down on the wooden floorboards beside the bed. The pillows are unordered and varying shapes and sizes and it takes Frank a full minute to select one to his liking. Gerard by this stage, has finished his cup as well and is watching Frank yawn and stretch like a cat, a smile playing on his lips. Frank closes his eyes as Gerard's warm arms encircle him, his hands drawing strange patterns against his skin. He feels guilty for enjoying this present, this moment, especially after leaving Jamia the way he did. His stomach twists in knots against his will and he finds himself pulling away from Gerard's calloused touch. Gerard doesn't say anything, he is grateful to have Frank, here and now, even if he is scarily young and wracked with guilt and pain. He hazards a guess that he has seen his father leaves again. He knows it’s something that Frank sees over and over again but cannot change. He knows it hurts him every time. He also knows there is nothing he can do to ease it except for holding Frank to him. Frank eventually shuffles back, burying his face against Gerard and allows himself to sleep.

He wakes to more coffee, cigarettes and the Daily Paper. He can hear Gerard singing somewhere, most likely his studio. His voice perfectly in tune and Frank wishes he could curl up in that voice and sleep forever. The smell of the coffee distracts him however and he is reaching for it before he can even process the thought. He drinks and flips through the paper. There are wars again in Africa and the Middle East. Outbreaks of smallpox in southern England due to a recent terrorist strike and the Statue of Liberty is being re-welded and plated again. He flips through to the business section, draining the last of his mug and lights a cigarette. Google is still a high contender in share prices and the great technology race and he makes a mental note to buy more shares when he is in the past again. Playing the stock market has always been hit and miss, but knowing the pitches and rolls of the ever-turbulent seas makes it a more even playing field. Besides, it meant that he did not have to hold down a job. He glances around for an ashtray and cannot see anything in reaching distance so he taps it into his empty mug instead.

Bored with the business section he turns to the Arts spread. Gerard is in it. Of course he is. It is a small piece about the up coming exhibition at MoMA. Frank notes the date and bits his lip, hoping he can stay for that long. Gerard walks into his room, smiling.

“Hey!” Frank says, smiling back, jabbing his finger to the page. “You never said you were exhibiting at MoMA! You're like Mr. Famous Art Guy now, aren't you?”

Gerard shrugs with a smile, sitting down on the bed beside him, pulling a cigarette from the packet. They are French and specially imported – in his luggage, due to the US ban of the selling of tobacco-based products 4 years ago. He doesn't have the heart to break it to this young Frank just yet, he will know in a few years time when he is older and in Gerard's past as they stand outside on the street, protesting their rights.

Frank continues to stare at him, in the light of day Gerard looks different; older but still handsome. He watches as he brings the cigarette to his lips, licking his own subconsciously. He tears his eyes away and flicks his ash into the mug that Gerard is now using too, his heart is beating uncomfortably hard.

Gerard suddenly grabs his hand, hauling him out of bed and down the hall to his studio. Frank begins to make a startled noise, but stops, amazed at the pieces that dominate the large space. The room is a monster – intended as the master bedroom – and so brightly colored it almost hurts him. He hesitates in front of the first, rubbing his thumb over Gerard's hand still clasped in his. He exhales.

“Gee… I…” he can't find the words to properly express the genius before him and he laughs at his own awkwardness. Gerard laughs too, brushing his hair out of his face. The exhibition is in a few days time and he decides that he really needs a haircut or something. Frank half skips to the next one, drinking in its texture and complexity of line and realizing that he has no idea what these works are about. He almost opens his mouth to ask but is scared by any answers potentially involving “you”.

Gerard lets go of his hand, moving to his wrist and pushes his hand against it. Frank yanks it back in surprise. It's cold, very cold. “It's new paint, it, uh, reacts to its environment” Gerard explains, returning his hand to its previous state of being in Frank's. Frank nods, enthralled and gingerly brings his index finger up to touch another section. This one flares hot and he pulls his hand back with a yelp. Gerard laughs.

“You should see what it does to the brushes,” he says offhandedly. They move to the next and the next until Frank swears all he sees when he closes his eyes is the bright colors.  
They have breakfast and talk when they manage to draw each other from the studio. Frank is sitting cross-legged on a chair and is finishing his third cup of coffee of the morning or afternoon. Whatever it is.  
“It's three o'clock,” Gerard tells him when he asks. Frank wonders if he has no concept of time at all any more.

*

“I'm taking you out,” Gerard announces to Frank, who is back in bed, flipping through the latest comics like a teenager in the 90's.

“Huh?” Frank replies, not hearing the statement and turning the page.

Gerard sighs and sits down on the bed, gently taking the comic out of Frank’s hands and tells him again. Frank looks wary. He knows that Gerard is well known now and them being seen in public together would probably be a less than ideal situation but he nods anyway. Gerard smiles, making it all worth it, and hunts through the scattered mess of clothes on the floor, throwing Frank a pair of jeans and a vintage Misfits t-shirt. Frank sighs dramatically and climbs out of the warm bed, wincing as his feet hit the cool floorboards. Gerard rolls his eyes as Frank strips out of the sweats and into the briefs and jeans Gerard has provided. They fit nicely. He pulls on the t-shirt and grins widely. Fucking Gerard. He just _knew_.

“Dressed!” he states with a wide wave of his arms as though expecting a round of applause. Gerard throws him some socks and a box of new shoes. They are strange but he shrugs and pulls them on anyway along with a jacket draped over a chair near the bed.

Gerard's competent hands remove the jacket and hand him another one with a look of knowing. Frank tugs it on and looks down at himself. He is weirdly impressed. He glances over at Gerard, finally seeing him properly. He is dressed in a well-tailored black shirt and pants. In one maddening moment Frank imagines ripping those clothes off him and throwing him to the bed. He shoves the thought aside and takes a deep breath. Gerard comes closer to him, running his fingers through Frank's hair and brushing it into some form of style. Frank closes his eyes, enjoying the closeness and the feeling of Gerard's warm coffee tinged breath on his face. Frank cannot help himself and leans forward, pressing his lips to Gerard's for only the second time since he has arrived. Gerard's hands trail down to his jaw, gently tilting his face upwards as his tongue traces along his bottom lip. Frank moans loudly and pulls Gerard's body closer before sliding his tongue into his mouth. Gerard eventually pulls away and returns his attention to Frank's hair. Frank sighs and lets him continue without further distraction. When he is groomed enough for Gerard's standards they leave his apartment and walk to the subway. The illuminated sign tells them the next one will arrive in 15 minutes. They take a seat on the steel and plastic benches as Gerard slips his hand back into Frank's.

“So where are you taking me?” he quizzes the older man beside him, “please not the Bronx again, I've been good!” Gerard laughs and is probably surprised Frank remembers that trip. Instead of telling though, he taps the side of his nose and smiles. “Please?” Frank begs, his eyes huge and their hazel color almost all that Gerard can bear. He swallows hard and shakes his head as Frank pretends to sulk until electric train arrives.

When they eventually find seats in the crowded carriage, Frank stares hopelessly out of the window despite being unable to see anything except the passing of lights. He doesn't like trains, or cars and especially not airplanes. They make him feel like he is disconnected to the current present and unable to hold on. Finally Gerard squeezes his hand and they leave, walking up the stairs. The air is punctuated with smells of food and heat and booze as Gerard steers them masterfully to the corner of Spring and Mott street. He stops outside the restaurant on the corner. A faded painting of the Mona Lisa holding a pizza underneath a banner that reads “You're at Lombardi's” graces the front entrance and Gerard holds the door open for Frank who enters the slight bustle uneasily. A waitress approaches them and smiles, gesturing towards a table in the back corner complete with the red and white checkered tablecloth. Frank cannot contain his grin as he sits down and squeezes Gerard's hand under the table.

“This place has history,” Gerard explains to Frank who is staring at him like he is Zeus or something. “It was actually the first Pizzeria to open in the States in 1905, but it didn't really get popular until after the Second World War”.

Frank just nods, trying to process all the new information flooding his brain. Gerard doesn't mind his silence. He knows that they have been here many, many times before when Frank is older. He orders a bottle of water and two glasses of cola. He asks Frank if he would like something a bit stronger but Frank just shakes his head and continues to stare down at the menu.

The food is delicious and hot when it arrives and Frank finally admits to himself that it was a good idea. Nothing has changed too drastically in the last several years he can remember being here, which is a relief. Not Gerard, not the city, not the people or even the food. Frank eats until he swears that he is going to rip the pants he is wearing. Gerard laughs at him before getting the bill and escorting them out into the cool air. He leads them to a small gelato store, orders coffees and two scoops each of their favorites. Frank stares at him, not being subtle. He can pick up small strands in Gerard's hair that are beginning to silver and he wonders if Gerard would like his help to dye it or if it's purposefully done.

The ride back to the apartment is easier with food in his stomach Frank decides, and like the shares in Google, makes a mental note of it. Gerard's hand is resting on his thigh but no one takes a second glance at them. When they finally get back upstairs, Gerard's carefully hands remove the jacket Frank is wearing. “I really like it on you,” he tells him as he strips off his own clothes. Frank wishes he would take off the rest of Frank’s clothes and he stands there for a moment watching Gerard undress, throwing his clothes onto a pile before he blushes and takes his own off instead.

Gerard wanders into his kitchen and makes coffee as Frank crawls into the bed, happy and full. He returns not long after, handing the young man in his bed a steaming mug. Frank takes it gratefully, sighing as it reaches his lips. Gerard could never get tired of that sound. Frank doesn't quite finish it before he places it on the floor and collapsing back onto the pillows.

“Gee?” he says softly, his hand wandering across the small space between them to touch him. “I'm sorry, I think I'm gonna go soon,” he tells him.

Gerard leans over without a second thought and kisses him until his is gone and all he is left with is a half finished mug of coffee and a warm, empty spot in the bed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Originally posted on LiveJournal


	2. Division II

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He looks from her face down to the floor, where his gaze lingers.
> 
> “I'm scared, Frankie,” she says at last as his hazel eyes meet hers again.
> 
> “You have no idea what it’s like,” he tells her, eyes staying on hers as his coffee goes cold. “I don't get to chose, I just get pulled away, against my will. It has never been something I could control. I can't hold onto anything, not you, not this house, not this present. It kills me, knowing that you are alone and waiting for me, never knowing. I don't want you to keep putting your life on hold for me.”

He comes to in his own house again. This time he is in the bathroom, sprawled on the cold tiles. He can't even raise his head before he is violently sick over the floor, choking and coughing. Her footsteps quickly run down the stairs and into the bathroom, turning the light on. Frank squeezes his eyes closed but all he can see is red. He did not expect to be back so soon and wants to leave again.  
Jamia kneels beside him, blowing gently onto his throbbing head and wiping the hair back from his face. She gently reaches up and grabs a damp towel from beside the sink and wipes his face and helps him to sit. He eventually opens his eyes and sees how young she is. He wraps his arms around her and buries his face into her neck as she presses gentle kisses to his cheek.  
   
“I'm sorry…” he starts before she cuts him off with a “shut up,” but her tone is soft and she helps him get to his feet. She guides him to the couch before getting a big glass of water for him and he smiles weakly at her as she hands it to him. She smiles back and it's a smile that reaches her eyes. He spies her left hand, a simple white gold band sits on her fourth finger, but it has not been there long. The house is barely filled with furniture and he feels strange sitting there.  
   
“Invest in Apple and Google,” he tells her and she looks sideways at him as if the comment means nothing to her. He clears his throat and finishes the glass. He was going to have to find a way to get around this whole _train_ problem in the future. Leaving an abandoned set of clothes would have been the least of his worries if anyone else had been in that compartment.

“Shower?” she asks him, heading back towards the bathroom to clean up. She is about twenty and has only been married for two weeks. Frank nods his head before following her, leaning against the walls along the way and door frame as she grabs a mop and hands him a bucket. He marvels at her, she is vibrant and unafraid, dressed in a pair of jeans and a tight fitting shirt that shows off her curves perfectly. He once longed to place his lips to them. She turns the shower on for him when they finish cleaning and the bathroom smells of eucalyptus instead of sick. She doesn't hesitate to wrap her arms firmly around his, letting her head fall between his shoulder and jaw. They fit perfectly and some piece somewhere inside Frank breaks away and dies. One day in her future – in his past – he tells her about Gerard during an argument; that she is not in his future. But for now she is blissfully happy and unaware and he does not say anything. She holds him for a minute longer and Frank lets her, sighing into her embrace. She releases him and stands back so he can at last stand under the hot curtain of water that his body is crying out for. He wonders why she is home and if she has told her parents yet about their marriage. She watches him shower and takes note of the bruises still evident on his body, obviously contemplating joining him but thinking better of it and leaving.

It is some time mid-afternoon and Frank feels like shit. He desperately needs food and rest – preferably in that order. His throat is raw and uncomfortable as he brushes his teeth and his head aches angrily. He does not look at his reflection. When he eventually emerges from the bathroom, the towel wrapped around his waist, Jamia is thrusting an omelet on a tray into his hands with a big glass of juice in the other. He grins at her despite the pain and nods his intention to go upstairs. She follows and climbs into bed, making herself comfortable and holding the tray for him as he climbs in beside her. He thinks things seem familiar and comfortable here as he hurriedly eats, glad to be back.

“You were here yesterday,” she tells him and Frank just nods, he thinks he can remember it even though the times here are all beginning to blur together. The last time he was here this early on in the relationship, he was about twenty-one. She looks at the new tattooed pieces with interest and is filled with a warm happiness at the sight of the ones on his hands. “So what crazy adventures have you been on lately?” she asks him, pushing his now empty plate aside as they snuggle down into the pillows.

He sighs and knows it is not the happy sigh she is expecting. “Nothing fun,” he tells her. “Saw dad leave again, got beaten up and we had a fight.” He does not mention Gerard.

“Oh,” Jamia says, staring at the end of the bed. “Nothing bad I hope?” she adds, before looking at him and running her hands over his bare chest. He shakes his head in reply.

“I was being a jerk,” he tells her and it is the truth.

He sleeps longer than he cares to admit and hopes that Jamia has not been bored. He still feels groggy as he goes downstairs but his head no longer hurts and he takes this as a good sign. She is in the shower and he realizes that it is morning again in this present. He wanders into the kitchen and begins digging through the cupboards, wincing at how cold the floor feels under his feet. He glances half-heartedly out of the window once there is coffee in his hand and is surprised to see snow decorating the yard.

“Jamia!” he calls excitedly, his cup of coffee abandoned to the table as he presses his palms against the frosted windows.

“Yeah, Frank, what is it?” she asks, wandering into the living room wearing a thick fluffy robe.

“Snow!” he cries and she laughs, encircling her arms around his bare torso, his face still pressed almost to the glass, breath fogging it up so he can't actually see anything.

“Yes, sweetheart,” she tells him and gently tugs him away. “We can go out when you have clothes on. Also, Mark from the tattoo shop has got some free time this morning if you want?”

He grins back at her, leaning down slightly and kissing her cheek before adding several more. He is giddy and caught in the moment. “I love you,” he tells her habitually. She kisses him back with such sweetness his heart aches, his hands entangling themselves in her damp hair that smells of blackberries and papaya.

“I made us coffee,” he tells her when he draws back to regain his breath and she smiles, pinching his cheek and calls him her perfect man. They take their coffees upstairs with them while they dress, glancing over at each other every few seconds and laughing when they catch each other staring. Frank pulls his clothes from the second chest of draws, knowing that one day they will be condensed into one reluctant draw down the bottom. He shrugs the thought away and concentrates on being in the moment where they are meant to be happy and blissfully in love. The next time he glances around Jamia is attempting to pull on a black and white striped long sleeve shirt that has been inside out. He teases her for looking like a paraplegic trying to get dressed. She laughs hard and ends up having to sit down as her legs buckle from under her.

They eventually are able to leave the house after another round of coffee and homemade muesli. Frank holds her hand tightly through his woolen skeleton gloves as they walk into town. It is bright outside and the sky is devoid of clouds; only the smoke from wood fires fills the sky. He inhales deeply and finds himself wishing he could stay here forever. He looks across at her and she is smiling at him, an excited expression playing on her delicate features. In this light he can see the hints of freckles specked across her nose and cheeks. He bits his lip to stop himself from kissing them. They are like ghosts on her and he finds the thought oddly comforting.

It feels good to walk and he vows to go for a run tonight. He hated running in high school since he was never very good. But it’s ironic how good you get at something when your life depends on it, which his does. He needs to know that he can escape no matter the situation or time, most people don't like helping naked tattooed men for some reason so he has learnt to rely only on himself.

The tattoo shop is warm and Mark greets them enthusiastically. Frank knows exactly what he is getting; he has seen it in a photograph Gerard has in his studio when he is twenty-six. He draws it out roughly and Mark fixes the lines. Frank is specific about the colors used, he always is. The vibrations of the needle and gun make him feel strange at first and he walks an odd line between the movement on his skin threatening to pull him away and the pain keeping him solidly there. Jamia watches enthralled and fetches coffee halfway through the session for both of them, along with peanut better sandwiches. He is thankful, knowing that it is easier to throw up with something in his stomach when he inevitably travels again.

When it is finished, Mark hands him a mirror to look at it. He smiles and it is exactly right: a pair of scissors with a banner reading _Jinx Breaking_ on his neck, along with the date of their wedding. His heart burns as he looks at it, fulfilling a promise made to her. Self-fulfilling prophecy or some shit. He hands the mirror back to Mark and practically runs into the waiting room, looking for Jamia who has gone for a walk. He glances around, slightly bewildered and wishes he could carry a cell phone to call her. Mark informs him that Jamia has already paid for the work and that he is good to go. Frank hugs him and runs out into the snow, only just remembering to grab his thick coat. He walks bristly up the street for a while before realizing that he has no idea where she is and heads back towards the shop. At last he spots her; hood of one of his own jackets pulled up around her face and pressing her mitten clad palms against the window of the pet store. His heart sinks because he knows that this week they will fight and it is going to be bad. He sneaks up behind her and wraps his arms around her, licking up her neck. She squeals loudly and attempts to throw him off but he only clings harder.

“Frank! Stop it!” she begs breathlessly as his lips and tongue move from her throat to the delicate spot just below her ear. He shakes his head but relents as she twists in his arms to face him, her fingers gently touching the side of his neck as she admires the new ink. Her cheeks color even more and she cannot think of anything to say for once except for “I love you,” and kissing him. He can feel the stares of people as they pass them but doesn't care, especially when his hot tongue presses against hers. They pull apart eventually and clasp hands together as she shows him the puppies in the windows.

He kisses her neck and whispers “I will never get used to this,” feeling her shiver against him. He knows he has no choice in the matter.

The house is cold when they arrive home again. It is quiet and receptive of their noise and warmth as they head upstairs and crawl into bed, turning the electric blanket onto full, still entirely clothed.

“It's so cold this year,” she tells him as he holds her close, shivering slightly. He nods and promises to make it warmer next year for her. She laughs before tugging his clothes off, explaining that it's survival 101. He knows this and does not fight her cold fingers on his bare skin. Her skin is soft and yielding beneath his hands; as though he could mold her into anything he wants. He prefers her like this and adores every piece of her but cannot help but think how much things will change. How _they_ will change and no longer be together.

“What are you thinking about?” she asks him, pulling him tightly against her as his spare hand works to undo her bra.

“Getting you naked?” he replies and grins in satisfaction when he is able to release her from the evils of support.

She sighs in response. “No, like, just before.”

“Oh,” he replies, mouth busy kissing down her neck and onto her collarbones. “Just the past… your future,” she frowns; he can feel it and pulls back up to look her in the eye. “You are my future,” he lies to her and his stomach sinks. “Do you remember when you were fifteen?” he asks, changing the subject.

“What? The first time we kissed?” she replies smiling. “Weren't you like twenty?” He knows she loves this memory and treasures it greatly. It had been a bad day at school, she had been pretty sure she had failed her math test and she had her period. Frank had shown up out of nowhere, wearing a school uniform that he had obviously stolen off some other kid and walked her home. Her parents wouldn't arrive home for another two hours so they watched cartoons and ate cereal from the box.

“You're a great kisser,” she tells him and kisses him as though to prove it. He kisses as dirty as he plays video games and plays guitar and knows she loves it.

They are now suitably warm and comfortable even though his neck aches dully and he needs to take some painkillers. He sighs and rolls over, digging for them in his bedside cabinet and trying not to think about how it will eventually become filled with more and more of her things and less of his. He is successful and swallows two pills dry before rolling back over. Like most afternoons in bed with Jamia as young as she is in this present, they end up fucking. It feels good, just as it always has and he tries not to let the guilt overcome him – the guilt of knowing better, of knowing different. But she is kissing his cheek; her hands still on his clammy lower back and he eventually rolls over and smiles at her. She grins back before muttering something about having to go to the toilet and pulls herself away from him. His arms feel empty with her gone and he busies himself with cleaning up the mess so it doesn't get all over the sheets. He wonders if she wants him to still be using condoms. He has not seen any children in their future though and the thought saddens him. He wonders if she has guessed this or that every time they have sex she is hoping she will get pregnant. He knows she wants to be a mom and to have a tangible part of him always with her, but he knows it will never eventuate. He does not allow himself to cry.

Jamia comes back from the bathroom and clambers back in, skin cold again and presses her feet against his legs to warm them. He knows they fight soon. She had told him so in the past – her future. He hates himself for it already.

“I don't like you being alone,” he tells her, biting the bullet.

She frowns at him. “I'm not alone, you're here practically all the time.”

He swallows the hard lump in his throat. “Not for long,” he tells her and her face falls.

“What do you mean by that?” she demands, pulling her arms away from him.

He closes his eyes before telling her he does not come as often and in his past he hasn't usually gone much further than this. She starts to cry and the guilt is killing him. He longs to place his arms around her, lie to her and reassure her that everything will be okay. But he knows it won't be and is unsure if he wants it to be.

“I don't understand,” she tells him in between sobs. He doesn't either. All that he can do is apologize to her as she keeps her arms wrapped firmly around herself as though they are the only things keeping her together, and tell her he wants her to get a dog.

“What the?” she chokes out before looking at him, anger now visible in her brown eyes. “You're… you're telling me to get a fucking _dog_ because you can't be here with me? How the fuck is that meant to make me feel better? Frank?” He doesn't look at her and she sits up and screams at him, tears running down her face, her voice thick “Frank? Fucking look at me!”

He drags his eyes up to her and flinches as if she has struck him. “I'm not saying I won't be around… just not as often as you are used to. I hate the though of you being alone here, without me,” he admits to her, trying to get her to understand, but she doesn't.

“So you’re telling me a dog is meant to be fair compensation? Fuck Frank. Why the fuck would you think that?!”

He feels his eyes burn and his throat close. “I know it’s not, but it helps, in the future,” he chokes out, his heart and stomach twisting hard. He cannot stand this and wishes she would listen.

“In the future? What about now? What about now when you are telling me that I'm going to be alone?” she is still crying and her nose is running. She wipes it on the back of her hand.

He reaches out at that moment to touch her and she shrinks away from his touch. He lets his arm lay out uselessly before telling her “You're not going to be alone! I'm not leaving you! Do you think if I had a choice I wouldn’t be here all the time? Of course I would! How could you doubt me?” he adds quietly and she does not look at him.

“It sounds like you’re leaving me,” she tells him quietly after a few minutes of sniffing and trying to stop the hysterics.

Frank shakes his head and reaches for her again, this time she lets him pull her close to him. “I'm not, I love you. All I was saying is that I would hate for you to feel alone when I'm not here.”

“You're not suggesting I go out and date other people are you?” she whispers back into his strong embrace. He flinches and wishes he could tell her yes.

But he can't. “No… God no, J,” is what he says instead and hates himself. He knows she should, he knows she will get lonely and it will begin to eat her alive.

“Good” she says tiredly, not able to understand why he is telling her this now. He knows she thinks that maybe he is regretting being married to her just before his lips meet hers roughly. She kisses him back just as hard and bits his lower lip. His hands weave themselves into her hair, grabbing hard. His tongue is in her mouth and he feels urgent beneath her hands. She digs her fingers into his arms, pulling him closer. He moans despite the pain and tugs her hair harder until they fall down and onto the bed again, his nails digging into his bare flesh. Her mouth leaves his, moving to his neck, opposite the new ink and bites him before licking the spot hard. He cries out but only holds her tighter, pulling her back by her hair so that he can kiss her again. She doesn't fight him off.

The kisses are not gentle or sweet, but rough and full of teeth and hurt. Her hand moves down between them and grasps around his cock, squeezing it. He shoves their bodies towards the edge of the bed and they fall heavily to the floor. She pushes him back and he looks bewildered before she stands, dragging him up. Then his hands are around her suddenly and there are his teeth, biting her neck and shoulders and pining her against the wall. She cries out and struggles, managing to twist her arm up and slap him. Her hand stings his cheek and he stops, biting his lip, eyes huge with unspoken apologies. She grabs him and pulls his mouth against her own, lifting one leg and placing it on the wall behind her. His arms brace the wall beside her and she can feel his hard, erect cock pressing against her just as he can feel her nipples pressing hard into his chest. He knows this is an open invitation but he doesn't want to, not like this, but she can feel his hesitation.

“Fuck me, Frankie,” she tells him, grabbing his cock and bringing him between her legs. He resists and tries to squirm away, but her grasp on him is too tight. “Fuck me,” she commands again and he stops fighting. She spits messily into her hand and rubs the saliva onto him before angling her body to take him. She needs him, closer than just standing there. At last he hitches her thigh onto his hip and pushes his way inside her. She grimaces through the slight pain and pulls her other leg up onto him as he takes her full weight against the wall. She swears loudly at the cold wall on her back.

His cheek stings from her slap, his neck burns from the new ink and her bites but he cannot make himself stop, cannot make himself pull away and tell her that he's sorry. He keeps going, panting with effort and pain as he fucks her. He closes his eyes tightly, face buried in her neck and feeling her fingernails press into his shoulders. He can tell they will leave little crescent shaped marks there for a week or more as a reminder. Her legs slip down from his hips and he uses that moment to pull away, to grab her face in his hands and to kiss her. She bites him again and shoves him backwards until he stumbles and falls back onto the bed. She climbs on top of him, pining his arms down.

“Please… J,” he begs her, his bottom lip shaking slightly. She thinks she is asking her to fuck him harder and she does, but it just makes him squirm under her. “Please, please stop,” he pants, eyes squeezed shut.

“Why?” she replies, freeing his arms so that she can flip him on top of her. His arms shoot up and attempt to hold her in place. She gyrates against him instead, knowing he is close. His body shakes and he tries to make himself speak, but can't and instead cries out when he comes inside her again. She climbs off and lies beside him, her face unreadable. He keeps his eyes closed and there is a lump in his throat. He loves sex but not like that. Not when they are both so hurt and angry at each other. He feels dirty and ashamed.

She reaches into her bedside cabinet, pulls out a cigarette and lights it despite them having a rule to never smoke in the house, let alone in bed. She lights it and lies back down, inhaling deeply and watching the smoke curl up towards the ceiling. His heart feels like it is being smashed into a thousand pieces and he wants nothing more than to be a million miles away from here. Without thinking he gets up, pulling on a pair of sweats and his hoodie, followed quickly by socks and shoes. If she notices his movements, she doesn't say anything and then he is gone, sprinting down the stairs and outside into the bright winter day.

Frank runs and coughs, the frigid air burning in his lungs as his feet pound on the snow covered pavement. He spends most of the time trying not to slip over until he gives up on the pavement and moves onto the road. A few car horns sound at him but he doesn't care, he just keeps running. He heads away from town and closer to the edge of the suburbs. He keeps running until there are no more emotions left, no more thoughts in his head before he turns and heads back to their home. His shoes are soaked through and his feet feel like they are encased in ice by the time he reaches the front door. He hesitates before knocking, a nagging hole in his chest where his heart used to be.

She opens the door, her eyes red from crying and dressed in one of his t-shirts, an old Bouncing Souls tour shirt with a ripped neckline. She lets him in silently and closes the door behind him. He stands there slightly awkwardly until she speaks.

“I… I thought you had… gone,” she tells him softly, leaning against the dining table for support, obviously unsure if she is or isn't glad that he is standing here before her.

“I went for a run,” he states plainly, bending down to yank his saturated shoes and socks off.

“Oh,” is all that she can think to say before he tells her he is going to have a shower and leaves the room. The hot water feels good against his skin but does nothing to ease the guilt and hurt filling him. He wants to tell her that he is sorry and that he is trying, really trying to be the person that she wants.

Jamia busies herself in the kitchen, preparing something for lunch, even though it is closer to dinnertime. She needs to keep her hands busy but they shake against her will. She contemplates making something else for them other than sandwiches and coffee but her mind is too much of a mess to make a decision on what to cook instead. She knows that he is upset and that she should have stopped. But she didn't. It had been such a good morning as well. She digs out the pain meds for him in case he needs some and pours out two cups of coffee. She hears the bathroom door open finally and takes the plate and the mug out only to see him disappear upstairs. She follows a few seconds later. He is busy pulling on clothes and is startled by her presence. She holds the plate and the steaming hot mug out as if they are a peace offering. He accepts them with muttered thanks, setting them on his bedside table.

“Can we talk?” she hesitantly suggests, still standing close to the doorway in case she needs to leave. He nods and sits down, pulling another t-shirt over the red one already on his body. She continues to stand, her arms wrapped around her despite the heating being on. “I'm sorry,” she blurts out. “Please don't…” she can't bring herself to say the _leave me_ part.

He looks from her face down to the floor, where his gaze lingers.

“I'm scared, Frankie,” she says at last as his hazel eyes meet hers again.

“You have no idea what it’s like,” he tells her, eyes staying on hers as his coffee goes cold. “I don't get to choose, I just get pulled away, against my will. It has never been something I could control. I can't hold onto anything, not you, not this house, not this present. It kills me, knowing that you are alone and waiting for me, never knowing. I don't want you to keep putting your life on hold for me.”

He looks up to see her crying again and sinking to the ground, her breathing coming in small gasps. “I’m… I'm not putting anything on hold…” she tries to tell him, even though they both know it is not true.

He wants to hold her, to draw her small body against his and make everything okay. But he can't and she needs to hear what he saying to her. “Yes you are,” he tells her sadly. “We don't have kids in the future, Jamia. You deserve to have that.”

She cries harder, her head her now in her hands and suddenly he needs a drink. “I want you,” she gasps out.

“I know, I want… need you, too. But I need for you to know that this,” he gestures between them even though she is not looking. “It’s only going to get harder. I need you to know everything, so that you can choose.”

“Choose?” she cries and looks up at him. “I never had a choice, Frank. You have always been there. How could I ever want to be with anyone else?”

He flinches and knows that she is right. How could she have had a choice? When he was right there, walking her home, listening to her when no one else would, kissing her, holding her. He has stolen her and taken any hope of a future away from her when he is not even going to be there for it. For all her faults, she is loyal, honest and respectful, the very traits he has tattooed on his arm and everything he is not. He is not loyal to her, he is not honest to her and the way he has acted towards her is anything but respectful. “I'm sorry,” he admits, biting his lip and trying not to let the tears spill forth again.

She gets up off the floor, shuffling over to him and very gently she takes his hands in hers, raising them to her lips and kissing them softly, like a rosary. He is struck by the simplicity and sweetness of the gesture and his heart spontaneously soars and falls.

“I wish I could do better by you,” he tells her as her hands continue to gently caress his own.

“I love you, that's enough for me,” she replies and brings his hands to her lips once more, allowing her kiss to linger there. His chest tightens and he knows that is enough _for now_ , but maybe not in the future, when she is alone for longer and longer and he is with someone else.

“Me too,” he tells her instead and bends down to press his lips to her cheek.

“Your coffee is cold,” she adds quietly, sniffing still.

He finds himself laughing and then she is as well. He hooks his hands underneath her arms and coaxes her up onto the bed with him. They lay down and his arms encircle her as he presses kisses to her head, her old tears soaking his shirt. He blames himself and tries to hold onto her, to this. For not the first nor last time, he wishes he could pause time. “I love you and that's enough for me” he tells her again and he can feel her smile against him.

*

Rinse and repeat, he thinks sadly as they are attempting to watch TV the next night. Jamia had been on the phone to her mom and it had not gone well.

“Maybe if you met them?” she argues with him.

“I have met them,” he replies, changing the channel to a wildlife documentary.

“As my husband? Please, Frank,” she asks him, but her tone is not at all encouraging. He mentally sighs, not ready for what she is suggesting and knowing with a sinking feeling in his stomach that they will not be happy with the situation between their daughter and him.

The TV is showing ants that have been attacked by parasitic spores, turning them into zombies, taking control of their brains and forcing them upwards into the canopy in the jungle before they die so the fungus can explode out of their heads. He feels like that now, not the fungus-filled part, but like he has no control over the situation. That no matter what, he is going to end up with his thoughts decorating the ceiling like after a gunshot.

“I will, just not yet” he tells her and tries to concentrate. He likes TV in this present and especially likes David Attenborough’s narration.

She sighs, digging her foot into his leg. “When?”

“When I am here long enough. I doubt your parents are going to be thrilled if I disappear over dinner,” he attempts to fool her. He is sticking around her for at least another week and is planning on enjoying the time with her and not being ripped to shreds by her parents.

She stops digging at him and settles down into the couch. “I'm not getting a dog,” she says stubbornly, clearly in the mood to fight. He eventually takes the bait.

“I thought you liked dogs?” he asks, tearing his eyes away from the TV to look at her stretched over the couch. He likes dogs and thinks that it would be a great idea. He knows how happy it makes her, at least for a few years.

“I do, but…” she starts and realizes the battle is lost before it already began.

“Pick whatever you like. You know we have plenty of money,” he tells her, it is true and he enjoys the feeling of knowing he can at least provide for her. He keeps a safety deposit box always stashed full of cash in a bank that is around as long as he is, not to mention the numerous bank accounts. She has never abused the system but he wishes she would.

“Money isn't the point,” she tries again, bristling at his last comment. He knows money isn't the point and he wishes she would drop it. He turns his attention back to the TV. “Don't ignore me Iero,” she tells him, calling him by their surname like she does when she is pissed off at him.

“I'm not!” he says exasperated, turning to face her. “I don't want to fight with you tonight, so please, drop it okay?”

She doesn't. “I'm not fighting,” she says trying to act defensively.

“Yes you are. Please, Jamia, I just want to enjoy this, being here with you,” he tells her honestly, he wants nothing more than to make the most of being at home, with her.

“Is it really that bad later on?” she asks instead.

He groans, he does not want to answer the question that has just left her lips. She won't like the answer and he doesn't want to admit to himself how bad things really get. She stares at him, expecting an answer. “Yes,” he tells her softly and gets up and leaves the room.

*

By the end of the week Frank is exhausted and can barely crawl out of bed. He is sick. His head feels like it is filled with cotton wool and jackhammers that don’t cancel each other out, an unpleasant combination at the best of times but when combined with constant sneezes, hot or cold sweats and feverish dreams it is unbearable. The medicine isn’t working and he longs to be in the future with the pills Gerard gives him that get him back on his feet within a matter of hours.

He sneezes and blows his nose, throwing the tissue to the overflowing trash bin beside him. It lands on the floor and he curls into a ball. He can hear keys in the door and he is happy Jamia is home. But she does not come upstairs straight away to see him and his heart sinks a little. He counts the minutes before her footsteps sound on the stairs, another sound accompanying her. He rolls over and glances towards the door and there she is, standing and holding a small puppy that shivers slightly in her grasp. Frank struggles to sit up as she approaches the bed and sits down, handing the dog to him. It's a she and feels warm and soft beneath his fingertips. He thinks its a Chihuahua crossed with something, but can't be sure. She is so small, her eyes and ears seem out of proportion. He pets her softly and she calms beneath his touch.

“What are you going to call her?” he asks thickly and needs to blow his nose again but his heart feels warm and full. Jamia smiles at him, it reaches her eyes easily.

“I was thinking something cute,” she tells him thoughtfully, reaching over to pat the tiny dog that almost is anything but cute.

“Sweet Pea,” he says without thinking and winces, _damnit_. He tries so hard not to influence the current time he is in.

“Is that what we call her?” she asks curiously as he throws himself face down into the pillow and sneezes violently.

“Yes,” he replies weakly when he lifts his head, blowing his nose again. It feels so raw and red and he is contemplating using a towel, as it would probably be softer than the toilet paper he’s currently using.

“Sweet Pea,” she replies, hugging the puppy to her. “I like it.” He nods his head and collapses back into the pillows. Glad that the fight is now over.

*

Frank is sitting on the curb, in someone else's clothes, smoking and waiting for his younger self to finish school. He wants to visit him mom, but he knows it’s an empty hope. He does not get to really talk to her again except in passing. Besides, he’d spent the morning watching her get ready for work and leave. She looked tired and stressed. After she had driven off he went and helps Betty again with her small garden. He likes her company almost as much as he likes her lemonade – and he loves her lemonade. But as he sits down on the edge of the quiet street his thoughts turn to Gerard. He wonders how his exhibition will go and if he will make it back in time to see any of it. He wonders how old he will be the next time Frank visits and he quietly hopes for a younger Gerard, one closer to his own age. His cold is mostly gone and he can breathe normally for the first time in almost a week.

Slowly a couple of students pass him. They stare at him and at his tattoos that are visible under the short-sleeved shirt he is wearing. He ignores them and grinds the cigarette into the gutter as he sees his younger self approach him. Younger Frank is thirteen and hating high school. He goes to a very strict Catholic school and has very few friends and even they pick on him. He brightens when he sees the older version of himself stand up from the curb he has been sitting on and grins at him. Frank cannot help but grin back as they head home together. Their mom will not be home for a few hours and Frank really needs some food and a cool glass of water or beer or something. The house feels empty like always when they arrive and instantly head into the kitchen. Frank finds a can of beer, pulling it out from the fridge, ready to crack it open when he realizes that the younger him would be blamed. He puts it back in the fridge and pours himself a glass of milk instead. He spends the afternoon teaching the thirteen year old to play songs on the guitar and helps him with his homework.

“So, in the future,” the young Frank asks as he sits on the couch, watching Frank smoke and stroke his fingers over photographs in the lounge. “Do you, like, get blowjobs?”

The older Frank's eyes open widely and he wants nothing more than to _not_ have this conversation right now. He ignores it in the hope that it will go away.

It doesn't. “Cause, like, I was wondering what it's like…” the kid bits his lip and glances down at the guitar in his lap, absentmindedly strumming.

Oh God. Frank stubs out his cigarette and paces the room slightly. “Where did you even learn about that stuff?” he asks.

The younger Frank laughs. “I'm you, remember? Surely you must remember finding those magazines dad left in the basement?” Frank squeezes his eyes closed, slightly embarrassed as he very clearly remembers finding them, and hiding them underneath his woolen sweaters rather than under his bed where mom was sure to find them. “So is it as good as it looks in the pictures?” young Frank asks, not dropping the subject.

Frank groans and collapses onto the couch, stealing the guitar. It feels comforting beneath his fingers, reassuring and familiar. “Fine,” he sighs. “Yes, I do, and yes, they are amazing. So much better than how they look in the pictures,” he tells his younger self, hoping he won't regret this in the future.

“Awesome,” the younger him replies with a smile before demanding to know when this will happen.

“When you’re older,” is all the older man explains and begins to play _A Day In The Life_ by The Beatles.

Their mom arrives home early and Frank has to literally leap out a window, tucking his body into a roll as he hits the lawn and scampers out of sight. He can't resist sneaking glances inside to see his mother light one of her cigarettes and plant a kiss on the young boy's head, pleased to see his homework done for once. His heart aches and he wishes he could be there, inside, with her, to inhale her faded perfume and feel her soft kiss against his cheek. He eventually wanders off to the park, sitting on the swings until he can feel the familiar tugging sensations: his head aching and body feeling lighter as he is taken away.

*

The kitchen floor beneath him feels familiar as he coughs and retches, swearing and groaning until his head begins to clear. There is a startled noise behind him and the sound of something being dropped.

A male voice swears, tinged with concern and hands sprawl onto his bare skin, gingerly helping him to move as more coughs rack his body. He just makes it to the sink before coughing and choking up bile that burns. The hands stay on him, rubbing small circles over the fading bruises there, tenderly touching. His shaking hands turn the tap on and bring a few mouthfuls of water to his parched lips. The water here tastes different but still lessens the burn and ache in his throat. Eventually he turns around, still leaning on the bench for support and gives a wobbly smile to a worried, older looking Gerard in front of him who asks if he is okay. He nods and tells him that he is tired and hungry.

“The usual?” Gerard asks with a grin, pulling an almost empty box of Poptarts from the cupboard and shaking them temptingly. He cannot help but notice that the cupboard is looking very bare and feels a small tug of remorse until Gerard is interrupting saying that he has been busy painting and was going to get around to it sometime. Apparently the older man has been surviving on coffee and cigarettes; it is beginning to show in the dark circles under his hazel eyes and his yellowing fingertips. Gerard rips open one of the foil packets and dumps the sugary contents into the toaster and asks if he Frank been anywhere interesting when he returns, tugging on a pair of sweat pants.

Frank gives a small laugh and leans once more against the bench. He tells him that he has just been with his younger self who asked, “whether or not blow jobs were as awesome as they looked in porn.” He gives a shake of his head as they both suddenly burst into laughter.

“Well, of course,” Gerard replies.

Frank grins and scratches at his neck, mentally scolding himself for not looking after his new ink as small parts of skin peel off and get caught under his nails. The area feels too warm and itchy and probably looks like hell. Gerard is suddenly in front of him, moving forward with his pale arms extended out for a hug. He hesitates in place but Frank doesn't, pulling him close and tucking his head against him. Frank’s bare skin is warm, soft and young under his hands and Gerard cannot stop the shaky breath he exhales or the slow inhale to smell him. It feels too good to have Frank like this and he finds himself hugging tighter, unable to make his brain function out of the sheer relief of hugging him. Frank yawns against him and they slowly pulls away from the warm, blissful embrace.

“It's late,” Gerard says offhandedly with a shrug. “I wasn't going to sleep but I really should.”

“Sleep sounds fucking awesome,” Frank replies, grabbing his warm, calloused hand and leading him to the bedroom after finishing off a second helping of food and the rest of the flat diet coke. The apartment is not as much of a mess as the last time he was here but he still has to dodge things on the way into their room. Gerard's hand feels almost stiff in his own and Frank notices his mannerisms seem off as he jumps into the unmade bed, tugging the mess of covers over him. He watches as the older man strips his clothes from his body, his eyes wary. “You alright?” he asks as Gerard slips in beside him. “You're acting like you've got a dick up your ass.”

“I– really? That's what you're going with?” he replies, quirking an eyebrow and tugging the covers up to hide his bare legs and red boxer briefs, still wearing his shirt. Frank laughs, stretching out and marveling at the feeling of the sheets against his bare skin and how strange it feels to be back in New York so soon.

“I was here last week,” Frank announces to the ceiling before turning his head to see Gerard keeping very much to his side of the bed. It’s strange and all he can give him is a reassuring smile and trail his hand across the sheet towards him to brush his fingertips against the worn fabric of his shirt. Gerard rubs his nose and asks what he was up to in the future. Frank grins and replies simply “Making a mess,” before adding, “Painting, making me ridiculously good coffee. You were older.” He does not give away much more but it is enough to coax a smile from Gerard's dark, cautious expression. Things should feel easy here but they don't. He gives in and moves closer, half snuggling into Gerard and mumbling, “Missed you,” into his warm and distinctly scented skin. He feels like home. Gerard gives a happy sigh and echoes the words as Frank's lips press themselves to his cheek, jaw and finally his lips.

The kisses are hot with reassurance until Frank pulls back and asks if his older self has been an asshole. He can feel Gerard swallow hard against the answer. “Not an asshole, but it's not the easiest time…”

It is confusing and Frank dislikes it hugely. He knows he can be a dick and desperately wants to know what has happened, what he has done this time around. He voices his concerns as his hands busy themselves sliding up underneath Gerard's t-shirt, feeling the soft skin. Gerard merely squeezes his eyes shut, making the small beginnings of wrinkles stand out more obviously as he shakes his head.

“We're getting there,” he tells him, bringing his own hand up to trace down Frank's ink-cloaked naked arm. “And it was my fault if anything. I… Can we not talk about it? I just want to be close to you right now.”

Frank buys this for the moment and buries his face against Gerard. They hold each other and just breathe. There is no need to exchange _I love you_ s; no need to voice their needs and desires; and eventually they start to move against each other, slow and deliberate. The touches turn frantic as their breathing speeds with their pounding, desperate hearts. Their hands and mouths are hot and slick against each other. Gerard tears his mouth away from its preoccupation with Frank's neck, panting heavily and stringing swear words together along with “I missed you so fucking much,” and “I'm sorry, so sorry… I never meant for it to end up like this…”

Frank pulls back, his eyes wild and almost afraid as his hands stutter to a stop. “End up like what?” he asks, panic tingeing his raw voice.

But Gerard merely shakes his head and draws him close again. “Just know I never meant to okay?” he whispers. It doesn't make sense and Frank demands answers even as his hands start to move again, tugging the older mans shirt up higher so that he can touch at the flat planes of his chest and hard nipples.

Gerard shakes his head once more, tugging his mouth back against Frank’s once more but Frank's hesitation and immovability get in the way along with his words. “Have we fucking broken up or some shit?”

Frank watches as Gerard's heart stutters for a moment as his voice dies in his throat. “What?” he manages to choke out, closely following with “No! God no!” but the expression on Frank's face is not quite one of relief just yet as Gerard’s fingers trail down his cheek and jaw. “Sorry, I didn't mean to scare you,” he apologizes.

He is rewarded by Frank's sharp exhale and a roll of hazel eyes accompanied by “You're an asshole,” and the hard press of lips. Gerard gives up trying to apologize into his mouth and rakes his fingers desperately through his dark hair, making Frank shudder almost helplessly against him, an invitation he hopes is too good to ignore as Gerard tugs at the longer strands, anchoring their faces together as Frank pants and squirms, hands anxiously grasping at the bare flesh under his shirt as his hips roll almost painfully against him. Both of them now seeking friction, release and almost unobtainable closeness.

They curl into each other keenly after Frank tugs the spent condom off and mops them both up. Their hands are still gripping at each other as their panting slows down enough for their mouths to reunite. Their bedroom is still flooded with light that spills from the hallway where they neglected to flick the switch off. It is enough to cast long shadows that cling to them, enveloping the lovers in their world of unheeded touches and caresses. Frank blinks against the tired and wrung out sensations settling over him, watching how Gerard's face and neck are gently flushed, his bottom lip red and swollen with shadows clinging to his defined cheekbones and nose. He is so beautiful and Frank wishes he could find the words to tell him so. He finds his fingers tracing down the older man’s nose and chin, feeling the bones and cartilage beneath the fragile skin. He has aged remarkably well and Frank catches himself wistfully thinking how oddly good he feels like this, comfortable and familiar, like a well-worn hoodie on a cold Jersey night. Eventually Gerard's eyes flutter open once more and a smile graces his lips. Frank smiles back and presses a quiet kiss to his bitten lips and settles against him, legs and limbs entwined. Sleep finally claims them both in this position – content and satisfied once Gerard has been reassured that Frank will still be there in the morning.

Gerard is the first to wake in the pre-dawn light. Beside him, Frank is curled up, snoring lightly with the blankets tugged down and twisted around his bare, tanned legs. It feels deeply reassuring and he cannot help but move closer to him, his fingers ghosting over his cool clammy skin. He feels Frank stir and make small noises of annoyance in his raw throat. When he eventually wakes they bathe and dress in a familiar dance of touches and laughs. There is coffee and the last of a box of Lucky Charms cereal shared between them.

Frank watches Gerard, gaze haunting his movements as he dresses in almost silence. He wants to ask him why he is acting like he is the middle of a zombie invasion and armed only with a coat hanger. He wants to know what has happened that has the man he loves so afraid and cautious. But Gerard does not surrender anything as they leave for the grocery store, hands linking and already itching for more nicotine, caffeine and each other. He has just missed the snow, the last of it draining into the gutters. Gerard assures him there is always next time as they clutch their coffees to their faces; that he would never live anywhere he couldn't play Hoth in the winter. This conversation quickly leads to one about Gerard's Star Wars sheets and how Frank refuses to have sex on them because “They're an abomination! And tend to kill anything remotely like a hard on for me.” It's not a theory Gerard seems particularly keen to test at the moment and apparently can't help but sink his small teeth into Frank's neck as they walk down the damp footpath.

“New bite fetish Gee?” Frank asks with a smirk as his feet drag slightly on the footpath.

Gerard blinks. “New?” he replies with a grin. “God, you are young aren't you.” The thought makes his heart race with something tinged with almost sadness. He longs to see the older Frank and know they are okay, but instead he is here with a Frank who is shoving his hands into his pocket a pulling a cigarette packet out. It really hits him then how _young_ Frank actually is and drops his arm around him. Frank furrows his brow and looks at him curiously. “Are you, ah, still with Jamia? I'm not coming on too strong here, am I?” The words still hurt for him to say as Frank's eyes widen in shock.

“Oh, right, you know…” he eventually gets out, shoving a cigarette between his full lips and rubbing his eyes. “Fuck this so weird. No, I'm not really with her anymore.” The statement makes him feel like shit, like he doesn't deserve to be here with Gerard. He fumbles, searching for the lighter.

Gerard stumbles over something of an apology and a feeble “Okay,” as his hand grasps out for Frank's. He swallows against the awkward lump in his throat, thinking about a day when he is all Gerard’s.

Gerard looks up at the sound of the lighter and quickly yanks the cigarette from Frank's mouth just before he gets the flame close. “What?” Frank asks indignantly, “Get your own, you mooch.” Gerard wishes that was the case but instead he shakes his head and tells him that he doesn't want him getting arrested. Frank looks appalled and shocked, asking several times if Gerard is fucking with him. Gerard really wishes that were the case. The anti-smoking law was a bitch. They get coffee finally before heading into the grocery store where Frank truly demonstrates his age.

“So do you actually have a preference? Other than when you're lazy and just like to lie there,” Frank teases as they are in the fresh fruit and vegetable aisle. The thought had suddenly hit him. What if he has been assuming that Gerard likes to bottom better? It's not something he’s ever thought to ask. Slight panic sweeps through him as he swings the basket onto his other arm, glancing over at Gerard who is, as usual, a step or two behind him.

Gerard gives a small laugh, closing the distance between them. “I never really thought about it, I just take whatever you're dishing out,” he replies with a grin, shrugging his shoulders in a way that makes it obvious he is lying and has totally thought this through on more than one occasion. Generally when the topic of sex came up – with a resounding yes in response – Frank usually found himself on top without even thinking about it. He mentally frowns at himself, blaming it on the fact that he was convinced he was straight for half his life, so taking control just came sort of naturally to him. Besides he’s impatient enough at the best of times without having to wait for Gerard's annoying habit of turning on music so their neighbors wouldn't hear and rooting around in the wrong draw for the lube. He picks up an apple, turning it over as though trying to discern the meaning of life from it, which as everyone already knew is forty two.

“Come on Gee, you know you totally love being balls deep inside me!” he says with a laugh watching Gerard's expression change to one of quiet amusement to one of shock due to the volume at which Frank had just announced it. “I mean,” Frank continues, seemingly unaware of the other people shopping around them. “Is it a problem me fucking you all the time? Should we like, reverse for a bit?”

Gerard is a little taken back by the question, especially in the middle of food shopping on a Tuesday morning, his brain getting tripped up by the questions. “What? Like reverse cowboy? Cause we tried that kinda unsuccessfully last week,” he replies, unsure exactly where Frank is going with this.

Frank, who is now handling carrots in a way that makes Gerard blush and smiling at him in the most stupidly alluring way he does. “No, Gee” he says, staring at him through half lidded eyes, trying to quiet his thumping heart. “Like, you top for a bit. I feel bad stealing it from you all the time,” he’s panicking a little, wondering what Gerard actually wants, maybe he wants to go on top _forever_. It's an irrational worry, he knows, because if that was what he wanted then he would've said something by now right? Right?

“What? Oh, Frankie, I don't mind!” Gerard replies with a laugh, moving to stand only inches away from him and taking the carrot from his hands and putting it into the basket.

“Really?” Frank feel's his eyes widen as Gerard's fingers slowly caress over his. “Cause I don't mind if you wanted to take over for a bit,” he bites his lip softly after the last part, his heart beating annoyingly fast.

“But it would be great to try it the other way more often…” Gerard continues but trails off, considering the idea and ends up with a glazed expression on his face instead. Frank squirms slightly in front of him, pressing closer until the basket smacks into Gerard's side. It startles him out of the fantasy world where they are _not_ having this conversation surrounded by mothers pushing children in shopping trolleys. “Oh my God! I freaked you out!!” he cries, mistaking Frank's expression of hopefulness to one of worry. “No, no, no! I'll be real careful, I promise, and you can tell me to stop whenever!”

“No!” Frank cries slightly loudly and a few heads turn in their direction. “I like it! Why would I tell you to stop?!” The panic starts to colors his voice now. What was Gerard telling him? Was he, like, never going to do him again?! He eventually realizes that the thought is of course, totally irrational and not even close to the truth. He sucks in a breath and forces himself to concentrate on the task at hand.

Gerard snaps back to attention from his worried state by being prodded in the side with a banana by an amused looking Frank who promptly waves it in the air. “How many of these do we need?” he points with his tattooed fingers down to the basket he is holding proudly. “Cause we’ve got two already.” Gerard laughs loudly and forcible restrains himself from tackling his small, annoyingly attractive boyfriend. Frank continues to bounce between the shelves of fruit, shoving things into the basket. He loudly announces that it is to stop Gerard getting scurvy – because how can oranges be a euphemism for something? – before he wanders off, getting distracted by other shelves and working his way through the store.

“These are not the droids you're looking for,” Gerard says in an even tone, waving his hand mystically in front of Frank's eyes, which are currently looking at the shampoo and conditioner bottles, surprising him.

“Fuck you Mr.-I-don't-even-own-a-mop,” he retorts, shoving a few bottles into the basket. Gerard raises an eyebrow at him and turns away to get milk with a smile.

The whole morning feels oddly domestic and something completely unusual compared with how they usually are with each other. Gerard, it seems, had forgotten how Frank was, how he was like this, so exuberant and kind of an asshole. Frank knows he possesses a smile that makes him cringe as much as it makes him melt. It's the kind of smile that spells out that he's planning something bad, pushing someone to their limits.

He shakes Gerard from his thoughts by dumping a tub of ice cream into the basket along with a comment of “You'd better have some fudge sauce at home.”


	3. Division III

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “It's a nice tatt.”
> 
> “Thanks…” is all Gerard receives in reply to his efforts to ease the tension so he plants another kiss to the side of the ink, closer to Frank's ears, scaring still evident from when they were stretched out. Frank's stomach is already tying itself into knots. He knows that Gerard finds out soon but he still holds some vain hope that it isn't tonight.
> 
> “Hey, what's the date for?” Gerard suddenly asks him and he freezes. “Oh-five, oh-two, oh-seven?”

Frank gains consciousness again behind someone's garage. The sun is too bright and bleaches out the colors surrounding him. He desperately hopes no one is home in this place as he quickly scampers to the clothesline. The pegs fly as he quickly and forcefully rips clothes from the wires before ducking back to the safety of the garage to pull the jeans and shirt over his quickly warming skin. His head is aching dully and limbs are slow to move. The heat is oppressive, making sweat break from him, only making the clothes cling harder. At times like this he is glad that he has a small frame. He thinks quickly how much harder all of this would be if he was six foot or really fat as he scampers out onto the sidewalk. The street before him is vaguely familiar, the trees slightly taller and the house on the corner repainted in beige, but the differences are small and his heart leaps a little when he approaches the known household two streets down.

By the time he reaches it, the jeans have chaffed and his balls are overly warm and uncomfortably squashed. There are no cars in the driveway so he approaches without caution and knocks loudly. There is silence inside and he knocks again, louder this time before giving up and circling around the house to the basement window. He kneels down on the dead and dying grass, yanking the window further open with ease. He knows it is never latched in case of moments like this and he finds himself desperately hoping for a younger lover without the complications Frank has seen recently. He grins at the thought of this home being opened up to invasion, all in case he randomly appears and needs to get inside. He sticks his leg in first and is surprised at the lack of give the pants actually have in them. It takes some effort to maneuver his body inside before he lands on the bed, glad for the summer heat preventing the frozen windowsills he has encountered in winter.

A loud voice gasps and swears. When his eyes finally adjust to the dim light in the room he sees Gerard standing there, still in his pajamas, clearly surprised, with his hair black and disheveled.

“You could've _knocked_ or something, jeez!” the younger man exclaims, pressing his palm to his chest as if to stop his heart from beating out of his chest. Frank just laughs and sets about making himself comfortable. His eyes do not leave the younger Gerard before him. It feels selfishly good to see him this young again, the way his arms are crossed over his chest almost protectively, the way he stands almost slouched. It is so different yet achingly similar to the man he will become and for once Frank feels genuinely blessed. He cannot, however, resist the urge to mock him about the shocked expression currently occupying Gerard’s face.

Gerard pretends to look offended as his arms drop down to his sides before rhetorically replying, “My face is great, thank you very much.”

Frank tells the mumbling teenager that his pretty little face could do with a shave. Gerard merely grumbles and busies himself with scattering a few papers on his desk.

The room is crowded and dark and the bed in which he lies smells like the sheets have not been washed in months. He suspects this may well be the case as he takes in Gerard's unkempt appearance. He assumes that the Gerard of this time has finished school and is currently at SVA, his high school pudge still clinging to his frame.

“So I was thinking…” Gerard says, still rummaging through the mess on the desk. “If you're gonna be here for a few hours, would you, ah, let me draw you?” Frank hears the hesitation and insecurity in his voice. He is somewhat shocked at the unexpected request; he knows the older Gerard has drawn him occasionally, usually when he is sprawled out napping in their bed as the traffic screams past their New York apartment, but having this Gerard actually _ask_ throws him a little. “You don't have to!” Gerard suddenly blurts out. “I just… I dunno, we're doing life drawings at the moment and–”

Frank cuts him off quickly by calling him a retard and rolling his eyes before the younger man can tell him to forget about it. He watches as the disheveled boy before him brightens instantly, like all his Christmases have come at once.

“Really?” Gerard asks incredulously, as though he does not believe what he’s hearing.

Wriggling slightly to ease the discomfort of the pants, Frank nods, smiling and asks him where is best. It is almost as if Gerard does not hear him as he grasps at pencils and a drawing page wildly exclaiming how great it is going to be and how they have been doing nudes and how inspiring and weird it is to see people that vulnerable. Gerard pauses, his dark eyes flicking back to Frank. “But I'm not asking you to do that… unless you wanna?” He adds that last bit a second later, his teeth pressing softly into his bottom lip, hopeful.

A laugh escapes Frank's lip and suddenly he is telling him that it's fine even though his heart is beating uncomfortably fast in his chest. Gerard runs a spare hand through his unwashed black hair again as he drags a chair closer. It's not like he has never been naked with him, but this is sort of different, lying out exposed under the artist’s critical glances. He voices his concern that this might be awkward for Gerard before his met with a scoff and “I'm never awkward about my drawing, you know that.” Frank's winning response is to stick his tongue out like a fifth grader before telling him to put on the TV so he doesn't get bored and fall asleep. This present is surreal and seems disconnected to what he has previously seen and the reality is that he is really fucking tired and hungry, longing for a hot shower and quick wank to relieve the tension.

He struggles to discard his clothes, squirming and messing the covers. He is hopelessly aware of every movement as Gerard draws in a shaky breath and tries to calm himself unsuccessfully, his ragged pajama bottoms doing little to persuade Frank that this is not at all sexual. He swears softly and collapses against the pillows, which smell strongly of sweat and Gerard's musky scent. He throws the pants as far away from him as he can manage, muttering about being bruised. Gerard laughs at him, also a little breathy as he sharpens his pencils. Frank tucks one hand under his head and attempts to relax.

“So, uh, get comfy? I guess,” Gerard tells him as he drags his chair into a better position, trying to work the light as best he can.

Frank attempts to keep still but it’s hard and he’s thirsty. He wriggles and tries to keep his attention on the TV as Gerard sketches frantically. His leg is overheating so he kicks at the blankets, trying to find a cool spot, finding it strange how simple this present is. It’s so easy compared to the good-husband charade with Jamia or the complicated future with a slightly older Gerard. He quickly banishes the thought from his mind when he sees Gerard put his pencil down with a giggle and exclaim, “Stop moving!”

“Sorry!” Frank replies. “Can you get me a drink?”

“A drink or a _drink_ -drink?” Gerard asks easily, getting off the chair and setting the rough sketch down as Frank shakes his head, his hair falling slightly into his face.

“Like a coke or something?” he asks before adding, “And maybe a sandwich.” as his stomach grumbles.

Gerard nods and disappears from the room and returning in a couple of minutes with a plate of peanut butter and jelly sandwiches and two glasses of what looks like cola. “I think…” Gerard takes a sip from one. “Yup,” he hands the other glass to Frank who eyes it suspiciously before drinking.

“Thanks, Gee,” he tells him after he has downed it and demolished the sandwiches, getting crumbs in the bed.

“Fucker,” Gerard swears playfully under his breath at him before taking a few mouthfuls of his drink. He takes another big mouthful before he resumes drawing again, mentioning that Frank is not as hard to draw as what he had thought. “You're, um, never mind,” Gerard starts before blushing and stopping himself.

Frank's attention turns away from the movie, “I'm what?” he asks before sitting up slightly onto his elbows. “Gee?”

“You’re moving is what, lay back down,” Gerard tells him even though it's not what he originally intended to say.

“Fine,” Frank replies with an exaggerated sigh, settling back down and adjusting his position yet again. He is beginning to understand now why Older Gerard usually draws him when he is napping. Gerard glares at him as he brushes more crumbs away before he hears a loud sigh and the sound of a new page being turned.

“You're doing this on purpose,” Gerard sighs, putting his pencil down.

Frank becomes distracted by the TV and itching at his neck before eventually answering with “Am not,” and he kicking his legs out. “Your bed is full of crumbs.”

“Frank!” Gerard exclaims. “You made it that way, now lay still!”

“No, it was like this when I first got in,” Frank argues back, smiling.

The younger man doesn't even pick up his pencil this time, too busy talking with him to draw. He takes another drink, muttering, “Jeez, you've never complained before.”

“Pfft,” is all Frank replies, turning his attention back to the Nazi zombies on the screen.

Gerard asks what he can do to stop Frank from moving around so he can _actually_ draw him, resting his hands on the page, his fingertips smudging the lines. It makes Frank settle down and apologize with a grin that makes it less than believable.

“Sure you are,” Gerard mutters, picking up the pencil once more only to be interrupted again within seconds. It does not take long for Frank to convince him to come over and lie with him. It takes even less time to strip Gerard of his worn pajamas and for Frank’s tongue to invade his bittersweet, alcohol-flavored mouth. Frank figures they can always go back to drawing later just as his thoughts stutter to a stop when Gerard reaches down and wraps a hand firmly around his hardening cock. He moans and kisses Gerard harder, squirming under his touch as the tugs become more rhythmic, squeezing his eyes shut and feeling his breath hitch in his throat. He's not going to last long like this. Gerard is pushed down onto his back as Frank crawls on top of him, letting his tattooed hand gently caress his balls before wrapping firmly around the base of him, their mouths still hot and wet against each other. Gerard moans loudly into his mouth and Frank loses all control. He brings his hand up to his mouth, sucking on his middle and index finger noisily, watching Gerard's eyes and mouth widen and feeling his cock pressing against Frank's hip. He grins and lowers his fingers down, letting them slide over the soft stretch of skin before pressing firmly against his entrance. His mouth crashes back into Gerard's who pushes against Frank's hand, desperate and panting. Frank's fully erect cock twitches against him as Gerard gasps and moans, encouraging him to go further, deeper. Frank trails his mouth down to his ear and he flexes his fingers against the spot he knows is the tipping point. Gerard cries out, his own hand wrapping itself around his achingly hard cock. Frank lets him for a minute as the younger man moans and thrusts against him, panting and groaning as Frank probes his tongue into Gerard’s ear and down his neck.

“Fuck me,” Gerard begs, his back arching.

Needing no more encouragement than that, Frank quickly withdraws his fingers, reaching over to the bedside draw as the younger man whimpers slightly, feeling empty and more desperate than before. Frank grabs a condom and lube but Gerard's hand quickly snatches the condom away, throwing it to the floor. Frank looks at him quizzically, biting his lip and opening to bottle of lube. “I want you… inside me,” Gerard pants in response. Frank goes to ask if he is sure, but Gerard's eyes are completely glazed over and he is staring at him. He empties some lube into his hand, moaning at how good it feels on his overly hard and sensitive cock. Fuck, it had been so long. It's not the first time they've barebacked – they usually don't because its messier – but right now the thought of being able to slide into Gerard uncovered only turns him on even more. The lube tingles and warms beneath his touch and he has to force his eyes open to remember what he’s doing.

He wipes his hand on the discarded stolen t-shirt before he moves between Gerard's legs and, kneeling on the bed, he lifts Gerard’s hips and lines them up. Gerard bends his knees, allowing Frank to lean across and kiss him as he begins to push his way into the tight warmth. Frank moans so loud the moment the entire head of his cock is inside Gerard and it takes all his self-control not to push all the way in that very second. Gerard sharply inhales and instinctively draws back before whimpering and sliding forward, forcing Frank's cock deeper into him, his own still grasped tightly in his hand. Eventually Frank is all the way inside him, his mouth messily kissing as Gerard's knees press against his shoulders like spring boards. Frank pulls back and almost out as Gerard squirms beneath him, swearing loudly, until he drives back in again, making sure to hit his spot. Gerard gasps breathlessly, his hand clutching at his own cock and begins jerking off hard, eyes closed.

Seeing him like this is too much for Frank as he continues to push himself deeper. He pulls out after a few long minutes and Gerard quickly flips over onto his knees, his fingers grasping at the headboard. “Frankie, Please” he begs, head dropping low and lungs heaving. Frank obliges and takes him time entering him, teasing him, sliding slowly in and Gerard groans and tries to push hard against him, but Frank just bites his lip and pulls back a tiny amount each time he does it. Gerard gives up fighting at last and at that Frank cannot help but ram himself him until he is balls deep inside Gerard. They swear at the same time, a chorus of “Fuck!” and “Shit!” and each other’s names as they move faster. Frank can feel Gerard tighten around him and he knows he is close. He closes his eyes and attempts to hold off but the pressure and the warmth and the slide of Gerard against him is too much. He clings against his back and tries to warn him but all that comes out is a strangled “Gee…” before his entire body convulses and he empties hot and hard into him. Gerard comes a few seconds later, crying out as he feels Frank swear and he shoots into his own hand, cupped around the tip, shuddering bodily when Frank eventually and reluctantly withdraws. He collapses beside the younger man, absentmindedly reaching for the t-shirt to clean them both up. Gerard rolls onto his side and pulls Frank closer against him, kissing his cheeks and forehead and lips. Frank smiles and kisses back, his almond shaped hazel eyes closed and a happy, contented smile playing across his face.

“Love you,” he whispers to Gerard and can feel himself being dragged to sleep.

“Love you more,” Gerard replies and closes his eyes, arm moving to rest across Frank's waist but Frank is already asleep.

*

It is warm as they lay together, finally awake, Gerard's hands tracing over the tattoos on Frank's arms and chest. Frank presses a kiss to his slightly clammy forehead, his own hands resting peacefully on his lover's hips.

“Mmm,” Gerard sighs, a warm, happy, contented noise as Frank presses another kiss on him, this time to his lips. After a second he pulls back.

“You taste like a seedy bar,” he murmurs, his eyes half closed and a smile playing on his still swollen lips. Gerard's only response is to giggle and kiss him back, completely relaxed, as though breathing itself is a task too difficult. Frank makes the same contented noise before softly speaking. “Not that I mind,” to which Gerard nuzzles in closer, wrapping himself in the smell of Frank, paint, sex and sandwiches.

“Mmmhmmm, didn't think so,” he murmurs, closing his eyes and inhaling.

“Shud'up,” Frank tells him sleepily and Gerard giggles again, getting gently poked in the ribs for his efforts, Frank's face smiling lazily against him.

“Oi,” he mumbles and Frank's hand stops its assault, pulling Gerard’s leg over his own instead. Gerard happily cuddles in closer, despite it being warm and their bodies sticking together slightly. He looks down at Frank's hand, still on his thigh and gently traces the _Romantic_ tattoo there with the broken heart. “I don't remember this,” he says softly. “When do you get this?”

Frank pushes the blankets away with his spare leg. “Uh, when you are, like thirty-five or something. You come with me to get them actually. They’re a set,” he pulls his other hand out and shows them off.

Gerard grins “Yeah?” he asks, searching for more information.

“Yeah and you hide outside like a pussy cause you’re still afraid of needles,” Frank says and kisses the tip of Gerard's nose.

“Am I?” he asks, pushing for more even though he knows Frank won't tell him. He never tells him much about the future, making up some lame excuse about altering things. Frank just moves his hand up from his thigh and begins running it through his hair. Gerard sighs, “Don't ask my future? Yeah, okay,” he resigns before adding “I just don't wanna be scared forever.”

“You're not,” Frank tells him knowingly and kisses him again.

Gerard draws back slightly. “But that's all you'll say right?” he asks, falling back into Frank's touch, forgetting what he is saying as hands trail to the back of his neck.

“Contrary to what you might believe,” Frank murmurs against Gerard's black hair. “You only get one shot at this. I'm not going to tell you anything that might fuck up how good things get for you,” he tells him, pulling him closer. He can feel Gerard nod his head and plant a kiss on his bare skin. They have had this conversation many times and Gerard never wins it, much to his disappointment.

He sighs happily, telling the mess of dark hair currently pressed against his lips that he has missed this. That he has missed him.

“You were here last week and I still missed you too,” Gerard mumbles back, fond memories of spending most of it in bed watching movies.

“Huh, how old was I?” he asks, scratching at his neck.

Gerard grins at him. “I shouldn’t tell you about your future,” he parrots before pulling Frank's hand away from his neck. “Stop scratching at that, you'll get it infected.” He props himself up so he can see it more clearly. Frank closes his eyes as Gerard's fingertips gently stroke it.

“I need to know, Gee, so I can plan things out a bit better, so I at least know when I can expect to see you again,” he sighs and brings his hand back up to scratch it again. “It's itchy,” he adds in complaint as Gerard bats his hand away for the second time.

“You were… will be thirty-something. I don't care if it's itchy, stop scratching. Look, I’ll put something on it okay?” Gerard replies and leans across to the draw and pulls out a little tub. Frank stares at him stretching out to reach it, admiring the way his body moves.

“Thanks,” he says, suddenly saddened by the fact that he is getting older and the knowledge that their relationship doesn't end up fading like with Jamia is only a hope. Gerard undoes the lid and scrapes some out, rubbing it gently onto the raised, warm skin and scabbed-over sections.

“Mmm, that feels good,” he moans as the itchiness is alleviated and leans forward to press his lips to Gerard's smooth pale chest. Gerard plants a soft kiss just above the new tattoo.

“Of course it does, I've got all the moves,” he tells him with a grin, his fingers still tracing the ink.

“You sure do,” Frank replies with a laugh, enjoying having Gerard draped across him, touching him. His touch is gentle, like his fingers are the brushes he uses to paint with and Frank's skin is his canvas.

“Mmm,” Gerard replies and plants another small kiss.

Frank cannot resist the urge to speak. “Seriously, whatever you're doing feels amazing.”

Gerard laughs. “Meds not this good back in the day?” he jokes. “Well, either that or I have magic hands, which is definitely possible.”

“Both,” Frank quickly answers. Incredibly magical hands and insanely good medicines.

Gerard, satisfied that the cream is now all rubbed in, begins to speak again. “Alright, let me see… _Jinx Breaking_ , should I know what that's relevant to?” he asks innocently and Frank stiffens slightly under his touch. _Oh no. God no. Not now. Fuck._ He swears in his head before telling him that it is a Jawbreaker song; one of the bands he told Gerard to download. He hopes and prays he doesn't know the song.

Gerard's hand gently caresses it and it is obvious he is puzzled as to why Frank is suddenly acting so strange. He was never one to keep the meanings behind his tattoos hidden. “Okay, cool,” he tells him. “I haven't got all of their songs yet, some of it's not easy to get.”

“Yeah…” Frank replies unhelpfully.

“It's a nice tatt.”

“Thanks…” is all Gerard receives in reply to his efforts to ease the tension so he plants another kiss to the side of the ink, closer to Frank's ears, scaring still evident from when they were stretched out. Frank's stomach is already tying itself into knots. He knows that Gerard finds out soon but he still holds some vain hope that it isn't tonight.

“Hey, what's the date for?” Gerard suddenly asks him and he freezes. “Oh-five, oh-two, oh-seven?”

Frank tries to slow his breathing as his heart beats hard and uncomfortably. He feels sick and really, really needs to leave. “It's nothing Gee,” he tell him, shrugging as if to suggest it's no big deal when really it is and he is so fucking stupid. Of course Gerard would ask what it meant. He is fucked. There is no way out of this except a misguided attempt at avoidance. But his heart rate betrays him.

Gerard leans down again to look at his face, cupping one hand to his jaw line. “Hey, Frankie? It's okay, what is it?” he asks, kissing the scar between his eyebrows and down the side of his face.

“It's nothing, Gee, really,” Frank tries to sound as sincere as he can, but it comes out sounding wrong anyway as Gerard pushes his soft dark hair from off his face.

“You alright? Babe? You can tell me anything, you know that,” Gerard tells him and Frank knows it's true as Gerard presses their lips together.

“It's nothing,” he tells him again defensively but kisses back. “Really, Gee.”

Gerard looks back at him, confused. “You got a date that means nothing inked into your neck?” he asks, disbelieving. Frank tears his eyes away from Gerard's dark hazel ones and feels like throwing up and running away. He does not want to explain. Not right now. Not ever. How can he? He knows a good thirty-plus years separates them from Jamia and whatever life she may have finally found without him. He doesn’t even know if she even still lives in Jersey or, hell, if she is even alive right now. He knows he should feel guilty for not trying to find out but he doesn’t. He’s not sure if he can stomach the truth of his past.

“It's not important,” he tries again. “Can you please drop it?”

Gerard sits back but doesn't withdraw his hand as Frank closes his eyes. “I'm not going to like this am I?” he asks quietly and Frank tries once more to fool him into thinking that it's not important. “You're lying to me,” Gerard says softly, pulling his hand away and sitting upright, the sheets pooling around his hips. “Frankie, just tell me.”

Frank bites his lip and reaches out but Gerard grabs his hand before it can touch him and holds it instead. He closes his eyes again and swallows hard. “You are going to hate me,” he states. “I should leave,” he attempts to get up but Gerard holds him firm.

“Frankie no, I could never hate you, I love you,” he says in a hurt voice as Frank sits upright, laughing sadly.

“You will Gee. God, how could you not?”

Gerard's eyes are wide and his breathing is short and shallow. “Frank, you're scaring me,” he tells him and Frank can see it clearly in his eyes.

“Please don't make me explain,” Frank begs as Gerard attempts to blink tears away.

They argue back and forth until Frank caves under his lover’s wide eyes, shaking and curling in on himself he utters that there was someone else; that the date is the day he got married. He doesn't look at Gerard. The way he is struggling to breath and jerks away is evident enough of how he is feeling.

“You…” Gerard hoarsely whispers. “You what?”

Frank bites his lips savagely and doesn't meet his eyes. Focusing instead on the end of the bed and trying not to throw up or run away or worse, throw himself on the hurt and terrified boy beside him.

His silence seems to confirm things as Gerard shakily breaths, “No… no… you can't have…”

“Gee, please, can I explain?” Frank begs as his stomach twists and stomach acid rises.

“This… this is new… you did this recently,” Gerard states, pointing at the tattoo as his voice shakes and breaths stutter and die in his throat. Silence takes the room, broken only by sobbing breaths and sharp inhales. “No,” Gerard whispers, before repeating himself more loudly as tears burst forth. Frank raises his glance momentarily and drops it back down as he sees the level of pain in Gerard's eyes. It is too much. He feels the younger man flinch back and demand to know _how_ and _why_.

“It's the past Gee, please… she's my past,” Frank tries to tell him as his mouth fills with warm copper of blood from his lip.

“Your past?” Gerard cries, “How– you're twenty-four years old and I've know you since I was five! How much more _past_ can you get?”

Frank keeps his head low and tries to explain that he doesn't just stay within his own timeline, that he has known Gerard for just over three years but the expression on his young and frightened face betrays him.

“Is… is she here? Is she alive now?!” Gerard chokes out, his voice uneven and suggesting he really does not want an answer but desperately needs one. Frank's silence is all the proof he needs to confirm his fears and he can barely breathe.

“I don't know,” Frank tells him softly. “I get pulled to you, not her. I've been seeing her less and less. I stop going to her when I'm twenty five.”

Gerard is clearly horrified by his soft words. “What?!” he cries loudly. “You don't know?! You're _married_ to her! How can you not know if she's still alive?!”

“I…” Frank starts before he is cut off by Gerard demanding to know how many people he gets pulled to; how many people he's been stringing along.

He quickly answers as the younger man's voice becomes harsh and his hands twist into fists. It's not like that and, more than anything, Frank wishes Gerard could understand. He continues to look at him, begging him to believe him. “Gee! Please…” he tries.

“Please what?” Gerard replies harshly, staring him down.

“Gerard…” Frank says softly, his eyebrows knitting together and his head pounding hard.

“What, Frank? What do you want from me?” he demands.

Frank drops his head once more and mutters “Please… just, hear me out.”

Gerard looks away and across the room, his bottom lip trembling as the hate is replaced by fear and hurt yet again. “I don't know how much I _can_ hear. You have a _wife_ , Frank. A wife. I mean, what am I _supposed_ to think?” he swallows and looks back at the small curled up frame of Frank. “What– what am I to you?”

Frank flounders for words. “I… Gee, I know, I know how bad all of this is, but you're… you're my future. Not her. I understand if you hate me, I hate me too.”

“Don't play the victim card now, Frank, it's not the time,” Gerard tells him bitterly and pinches the bridge of his nose with a sigh that hurts. “So I'm your future? This _section_ of your life?” he asks, trying to make sense of what he is being told. “I get one half and she gets the other?” he takes a deep breath and tries to stop the tears. “You want to know what you are to me?”

Frank squeezes his eyes hard shut, and sinks his teeth into the cuts in his lips. He is not ready to hear whatever it is that Gerard is going to say. He cannot bear to hear what hurtful words will tumble out of his lover’s lips. Lips that he had been kissing with no sign of change up until ten minutes ago. He is surprised with what Gerard tells him. But it is a million times worse than being told he is hated.

“You're my everything, Frank,” Gerard says softly, and Frank is taken aback by his tone. “You're every fucking thing I care about. You are my _whole_ life. My art, my family, my best friend, my lover… and I'm… I'm not enough for you apparently.”

Frank raises his head and allows the tears to spill over once again, burning down his cheeks. “Gerard… you are…” he tries to reassure him and almost raises his hand to touch him.

“No, I'm not,” Gerard tells him with a sad shake of his head. He squeezes his eyes shut, his heart pounding painfully against his chest. “Does she… does she know about me? Or am I your dirty secret?” He feels sick at the thought, not only of Frank going home to someone else to play husband, but then coming here to see him, acting as if Gerard is his whole world and the only thing that makes him happy and then leaving, going back to _her_.

Frank bites his lip again, unconsciously becoming aware that this is how he gets the scars on his lip that an older Gerard has told him about. “She does,” he tells him, it is the truth, or a partial one in that she knows in the future… her future. The past of now. And Frank’s past. “Please Gee… I… I didn't know, I didn't know until I first showed up when you’re thirty-something…”

“What? Gerard bites back. “That you'd make me fall in love with you? Or that you'd marry someone else but keep fucking me anyway?”

The truth hits Frank in the face like a branding iron. “It's not like that…” he tries to tell him but everything screams at him saying _that's exactly what it's like._

“Maybe you should go,” Gerard tells him, not looking at him. He needs to throw up and drink and throw up again and smash everything in reach, Frank can see it in his eyes.

“Okay,” Frank says with a small nod.

“Give me time,” Gerard says, but Frank thinks that he probably needs a century to get over this. “I'm… I'm not saying don't come back, Frankie, just give me some time,” he adds as Frank stands awkwardly up, his knees cracking. Gerard winces and his eyes say _let me break some things while you're not here_ but he doesn't say it out loud.

Frank keeps his eyes to the floor. Convinced totally that he has ruined things forever, that there is no more _Frank and Gerard_ , just like there is no _Frank and Jamia_. The though makes him sick, but the thought that he has ruined Gerard makes him sicker. He does not intend to return, tricking himself into thinking that it is the best for both of them. Gerard can have a normal life and he can… be alone. Like he deserves to be. Especially now.

He awkwardly asks for clothes. But it is when he turns to leave that Gerard's voice calls him back. “Frank,” Gerard says again, more firmly. “Promise me you'll come back? I… I don't have anyone else.”

Frank cringes and he can feel the tears burning again. Shit. Fuck. He needs to leave. He can't have Gerard see him like this. His words echo in his head _“I don't have anyone else,”_ and Frank knows he has done this to him. At last he answers softly with “…Okay” but it is not very convincing. Gerard gaze and wanders back towards the bed to dig something out from under his bed.

“Gerard?” Frank asks, his mouth working before his brain can tell it no. Gerard freezes but doesn't look up. “I love you… I'm sorry, I'm sorry for everything.”

Frank walks towards the door and he hears Gerard whisper back, “I love you too.”

*

He makes it two feet outside the door before hysterics overtake him, forcing him to his knees around the other side of the house. There is no foreseeable way out of the mess he has just created. He suspects that Gerard will hate him forever. There is no way that he couldn't. Frank was there for him all his life, like he was for Jamia. He watched him grow up. Fuck, he was Gerard's first fucking kiss and he has just practically all but told the younger man that he is not good enough for him. Everything pours out in a rush of emotions and bile that he spits onto the ground. Not for the first time does he wish he could go back, go back and change everything. He wishes he could explain that it is Gerard that he keeps coming back to, especially the older they get, like the rubber band of time around them is gets stronger and overrides all the others trying to pull him away. That he doesn’t see her after his twenty-fifth year. He knows because, sometime in the future when he is much older, he writes a letter to himself when he visits a twenty-three year old Gerard with instructions to give it to him when he next shows up. The problem is that the Frank that next shows up is twenty-one and has just married Jamia. He shows up only briefly, long enough to read the truth, then runs and cries, spending a lot of time at his parent's home attempting to deal with what he has just learned.

At last he is calm enough to walk aimlessly around the block a few times. The sun is shining too brightly – too bright and happy – everything Frank is not feeling. Without meaning to, he ends up back at the Way household. This time there are two cars parked out the front and he cannot resist the pull to the broken boy inside. He walks briskly to the basement window, pausing to knock this time before softly slipping in. Gerard's room is practically destroyed. He clearly been right when he thought Gerard wanted to smash shit and he is glad that he was not here to witness it. Posters are torn down from the walls and the contents of his desk now litter the floor, broken figurines lie in the wreckage like corpses. Gerard is passed out, still without a shirt, slumped forward over his desk with an empty liquor bottle within reach. Frank spies several more on the ground and his heart breaks. This is where everything falls apart, he thinks sadly to himself, remembering the night that Gerard vowed to become sober once more, a couple of years in the future from the moment in which he stands. He finds himself wandering closer to him and gently reaches over to touch Gerard. He doesn't stir and for one heart stopping moment Frank thinks that he is dead until he feels a pulse moving, thick and sluggish, under his fingertips. He sets about the Herculean task of dragging his body into bed. He is heavy and difficult to maneuver but doesn't wake as he is tucked under the covers. The TV is on upstairs and he can smell dinner. His stomach growls loudly so he searches the room for food. At last he seizes an old granola bar and sits on the end of the bed, watching Gerard's chest slowly rise and fall with his breathing until it grows dark outside. He climbs off the bed, flicking on the lamp as he does so, his legs stiff and sore from sitting for so long. The stereo is on and he gingerly presses play. The Smashing Pumpkins blare out thick, heavy and relieving like Gerard's pulse and he turns down the volume. He surveys the destruction and, with a shrug, starts to clean. He begins by sorting the clothes into piles of _definitely dirty_ , _wearable_ and _clean_. The _clean_ pile is the smallest by far and he wonders if this is because Gerard’s mom has finally stopped doing his laundry, most likely due to the disproportionate size of the dirty to clean clothes. He picks up the smashed plates and glasses, placing them gently into the trash. His heart sinks as he picks up the broken figurines that he had brought for him. Batman was in at least half a dozen pieces and He-man had fared just as badly. He spends a good part of an hour trying to glue them back together without success and in the end they get dropped, with less ceremony than they seem to deserve, into the trash as well. It is past ten at night by the time he has managed to place the room back into some semblance of order. He is tired and dizzy. He contemplates making a bed on the ground but he ends up crashing against Gerard and falling straight asleep.

*

His dreams are bright and vivid. He is in a familiar neighborhood and needs to find clothes. It is around five in the evening and everyone is arriving home from work. He steals off a clothesline and is chased by the owner’s terrier that yaps loudly at him. The buildings all look that same as he wanders up the street, up on the corner he spots Gerard with his back turned to him, his hood up and hands in pocket.

“Gerard!” he cries out and runs up to him but when the figure turns around it is Jamia instead and she hands him his wedding ring. It does not fit so he just puts it in his pocket. She looks sad and thin as they walk down a side street. Suddenly they are at their home but it's different in a way that he cannot put his finger on. She makes him food before they go upstairs to fuck and fall asleep, but he can't, he just stares at the ceiling and suddenly it is the middle of the day and the house has burnt down around him. There is no sign of her in the smoldering blackened foundations, but he doesn't spend much time looking. Instead he runs, runs in the direction of Gerard's home. He arrives, a little breathless, and knocks. Mikey opens the door but doesn't speak as he trips while crossing the threshold, he is in the apartment and it is quiet and everything is destroyed. The books have been thrown out of their shelves, paintings ripped down and broken. Even the furniture is shredded. He stares at the living room before going into the kitchen and witnessing the same scene, dishes smashed everywhere and the table in three pieces. He jogs down the hall, avoiding debris as he does so. The studio contains nothing whole and unharmed and his throat tightens. There is no sign of Mikey or Gerard so he heads to the bedroom. The door is blocked as he shoves against it hard, again and again until it gives a little and he can slip inside. Everything is scattered and broken, heaped up against the walls and in the middle Gerard is curled up in a ball. His dark hair sprawls on the ground, his skin patterned with bruises. He clambers over the wreckage until he can reach him. He lifts his head up and brushes his hair back. Gerard's eyes stare at him wordlessly but the house screams _You did this!_ to him and he knows it’s true as everything catches fire.

*

He jerks awake, a small amount of light pouring into the room and for a minute he doesn't remember the day before. Gerard has an arm around him and he rolls closer, brushing the long strands black hair off his forehead and gently kisses the soft, relaxed skin. His heart is still beating hard against his chest, seeming as if it might break out at any moment. Gerard makes a few small noises in the back of his throat and snuggles into him, skin warm and smelling like a week of solid drinking.

Drinking… Oh… He suddenly realizes when he is and looks around the room to confirm. The trash is overflowing with broken things and posters are still lying on the floor. “Fuck,” he swears softly as his throat tightens and he pulls away slightly. Gerard frowns in his sleep, his hands grabbing out for him but he scuttles back quickly. The movements wake Gerard.

“Frankie?” he mutters sleepily. “Come back…” his eyes are still closed and he sounds content. His breathing quickens and he doesn't know whether he should comply; he wants to, god he wants to. But he is scared that Gerard will hate him more if he does. Gerard's hands pat around inside the bed, searching. He frowns again and his eyes flutter open. “Oww,” he mumbles, pressing a hand to his forehead and closing his eyes again. Frank bites at his tender bottom lip, teeth slotting into the grooves still there from the night before and sits up. The blankets fall from him as he quickly climbs away from the warmth. Gerard winces. His head hurts badly and his tongue flicks at his teeth and lips like his mouth tastes really bad. His stomach grumbles unhappily. He looks at Frank who is now kneeling on the floor by the bed with a saddened expression on his face. He goes to ask him if he is all right when he remembers; remembers the bomb Frank had dropped on him yesterday, that he was in fact _married_ to _someone else_. Not him. His stomach flips and he throws himself out of bed and up the stairs to the bathroom, banging against the walls.

Frank debates whether to follow him as he can hear him being violently sick into the toilet. After a few minutes he hears it flush and the sound of the electric toothbrush floats down instead. He stays on his knees like he used to during mass. Never in his life has he felt more repentant and low than this and he almost wishes he could pray.

Gerard eventually comes down the stairs, swaying unsteady on his feet. Frank gets up, his knees cracking uncomfortably and closes the door, hesitating before he comes any closer. “You okay?” He asks huskily, gingerly taking a few steps forward.

Gerard stares at him, ignoring his question. “You cleaned,” he states, his arms crossed over his bare chest, his voice harsh.

Frank draws in a shaky breath, of course Gerard would still be mad at him, how could he have expected one night to change all the damage he had done? He stands there awkwardly, his arms dangling by his sides. “Um… yeah… just a little,” he whispers out, even though Gerard is not expecting an answer. He stares at him expressionlessly instead as Frank swallows hard. He had every right to be mad; he had been an ass and had hidden the fact that he had been married. That there had been someone else.

“Why?” Gerard demands, his jaw tense and defiant. Frank opens his mouth a few times to reply but is unable to come up with an answer that doesn't sound pathetic, down right weird or one that even makes sense. He knows by rights he should've left and not come back. Instead he shrugs and shifts uncomfortably under the younger man's harsh, judging gaze.

Gerard looks around, eying the corners of the room. “Did you move my art shit?” he challenges, moving towards the pile of clothing and tugging a t-shirt on. Frank slowly nods in response and carefully tells him that it is by the desk.

“Fucking hell,” is the response he is given, muttered under the younger man's breath. Gerard's hands quickly busy themselves rearranging things.

“Want me to get you a coffee or some aspirin?” Frank hesitantly asks, shifting his weight from foot to foot. It is too tense in the room – too awkward. He desperately wants to leave or fix things, to yell or scream, anything to get past the blockade he finds himself faced with. He knows that he had taken it for granted that the older Gerard had known and really, it was his own stupid fault for not stopping for a minute to find out exactly _how_ he would come to know.

“Not a fucking hangover. The shit is aspirin gonna do?” Gerard's voice breaks his thoughts, although it comes across as being directed half to himself and half to Frank.

“I'm sorry Gee,” he starts, shoving a hand through his hair roughly. “I…” he trails off, unable to think of any other words to say, how to tell the teenager standing before him how deeply sorry he is. Unable to articulate exactly what really needs to be said at that moment. Gerard continues to rearrange things back into an either highly ordered or completely random mess.

He does not look back at Frank. When he speaks again his voice is hard, his lips moving almost sluggishly around the words that flow from them. “You what? What exactly do you want to say there?”

“I'm sorry,” Frank blurts out, talking more with his curled fists. “I should've fucking said something earlier. But it's over between me and her now.”

In that moment, Gerard whirls around, turning on him with a dark expression tainting his features. “Yeah,” he bites back, “I can see how much that _tattoo_ on your fucking _neck_ says how over you and your _wife_ are.” He pauses as Frank recoils, sinking his teeth into his bottom lip further, wishing he had an answer. Gerard sucks in a breath. “And you think that telling me earlier would've made it any better? You should've ditched me back then.” He turns back to the mess he is reassembling, fingers busying themselves in an almost erratic manner before mumbling, “Fucking dragging me along.”

“Ditched you?!” Frank cries. “You think I have a fucking choice where I get dragged off to?” The thought horrifies him; even now the teenager before him is the most important thing in his life. If Frank could choose, he would never leave Gerard again.

But the man before him recoils as if he has been slapped, half stumbling and bracing himself against the worn desk. “That's all I am? Fucking hell, I'm not even just second best here. I'm a bad trip.”

“No! You're not! Fuck!”

“Stop it!” the younger man cries, bringing his expressive hands up almost to cover his ears, like he cannot bear to hear any more.

“You mean fucking everything to me!”

“Just stop it! You're _married_ , Frank! You're married and you're gonna go back to her and I'm probably never going to see you again and you didn't even have the decency to let me know.” Gerard's is all but ripping the hair from his head as he delivers the lines, his breath coming in small, hurt gasps.

Frank takes a few steps towards him and tries to explain that he and Jamia have been over for a while, that it was a stupid fucking decision to get married, but it was before he met Gerard.

He knows the words aren't quite right as the younger man clutches his head and stutters out “You… you were married when you met me? Fucking… shit, Frank! What the hell is wrong with you!? You can't just be all in love and married and then find someone else to fuck and string along.”

“I'm not in love with her!” Frank cries, gesturing wildly. He suppresses the sudden and disturbing urge to lay hands on Gerard, to shake him, to make him see, make him see the truth. He draws in a quick breath instead and tells him, “In case you haven't noticed, you're not just some fuck to me.”

Gerard argues back but he doesn't quite hear much apart from, “Then why are you still with her!? Getting tattoos about her?” and, “I thought we were good, but now I know all this…”

“I'm not with her!”

The statement feels overused and still not yet understood. Frank yells that he barely sees her and that in a year’s time he won't see her at all. That the tattoo was just a stupid promise he made, that it means nothing, despite it meaning everything to her. But he does not relay the last part. Gerard continues to brace himself against the messy desk. At any other time he would look nonchalantly cool, but the way his hands grip, white-knuckled to the edge and the expression twisting his young features undermines the pretense.

“Oh, only a year? Well, in that case, go right ahead and use me like a whore,” he says sarcastically before adding, “Your tattoos never mean nothing.”

That is the tipping point for Frank as he shoves the loose shirtsleeves up demanding to know if Gerard wants to see all the ones he draws for him. The younger man recoils and fervently tells him “No! For fuck's sake!”

“You wanna know about our future then?” Frank tries.

“No I fucking don't!”

Frank yells, stepping closer that he will tell him anything, everything. He knows it is a bad idea but at this moment he is more than willing to do _anything_ to save them. To make sure that what they have in the future remains so. Gerard yells back that he doesn't want to know before adding venomously, “I wish I didn't know this.”

Frank draws in a breath, shaking as the adrenaline continues to flood his system with dread and apprehension. It's like drowning. “I meet you when you are thirty-something and living in New York,” he starts, interrupted only by the younger man demanding he stop. But he continues regardless. “When you are twenty-three you will give a me a letter that I would've written previously, telling the barely twenty-one version of me that I stop seeing her.”

Gerard yells expressively back with his hands stating that if he doesn't shut up he is leaving the house and getting in a car or on a train or somewhere like that where Frank can't follow. It is enough for Frank to back down, holding his hands up as if in retreat, and apologize.

The younger man collapses down on the bed beside him, letting his head flop down into his hands as labored breaths tear through him. After a few seconds he mumbles out “Just… I can't be just some guy to you. If you want her then… But if you want me, you don't get to have someone else too.”

“I don't want her. I want you, always,” Frank says, taking a smaller step towards him once more, but Gerard flinches and looks at him, eyes still angry and trained on his neck. “I won't see her again. If I get pulled to her, I'll leave,” he promises, honestly meaning it. He'll find an excuse; he'll run if he needs to. Anything. Just anything.

A weighted silence surrounds them, Gerard's dark eyes still boring into him as his hands grip his knees. Eventually the younger man hoarsely asks if he is good enough. The question shouldn't surprise Frank but it does. He replies with a loud “Of course!” But his words are clearly not enough as Gerard stares harder and asks Frank to promise him, to promise that he is enough for him, that he doesn't need anyone else as well.

“Why don't I believe you?” Gerard asks, head cocked to the side when Frank makes that promise, saying that Gerard is enough and that he doesn't need or _want_ anyone else. He feels weak, begging like this, begging for Gerard to believe him, that he'll do anything to prove it to him. But the younger man before him simply turns his gaze away without saying anything and runs a practiced hand through his dark tangled hair.

“Please, tell me how I can make this up to you,” Frank tries, growing desperate.

“Fuck, Frank, I don't know. I don't know if you can… I… I don't fucking know, okay? Do you even have the slightest idea what this feels like?!” Gerard explodes back at him, watching as Frank slowly shakes his head and offers to go. He is torn between really wanting to and wanting anything but to leave. He figures for once he should give Gerard the option.

But Gerard seems either not to hear him or ignores the suggestion completely and is silent. “I love you so fucking much…” he starts, picking at his fingernails. “And I thought, somehow, that you felt the same… but you don't. Not really.”

The words sting Frank and make him feel sick, like his stomach is all twisted and trying to crawl it's way out of his throat. He wants to cry. All he can do is choke out that he does, that he loves him more than anything and prays hopelessly that Gerard can see that.

“Even if that's true, there's someone else who comes close,” the younger man says softly, resigned. “I don't have anyone else. If you're not here I'm alone, but you have her when you're not with me.”

“It was comfortable, I don't… I fell in love with _you_ ” Frank bursts out, searching for the right words and clearly choosing wrong as Gerard squeezes his eyes shut and tilts his head back.

“Fuck… Why are you doing this to me? I never thought this shit would happen, you know. I feel like a slutty mistress.”

“I never meant for you to find out… not like this,” but the words that choke out of Frank's lips are still wrong and he knows it as soon as they are in the open air.

“You…” Gerard laughs bitterly. “Fuck you, man. Fuck you. You're just regretting getting caught!” The statement hurts and Frank finds himself telling Gerard, like he is just watching from inside his own head and powerless to stop himself, how stupid he was for taking things for granted, how there was never a good time to tell him as he was always too young or old enough to know already, that he wanted to tell him. The last part is a lie. He never wanted him to know. The younger man seems to pick on this and gestures wildly.

“See! That! How do I know if that's the truth?! I can't tell anymore. Apparently I never could,” he cries, before sucking a breath in. “Did you never consider leaving her? If what you say about wanting me is true, why didn't you just leave her? Make me not just that boy on the side? Do you still accidentally kiss her? Fuck her? Tell her you love her? Am I out of your thoughts as soon as you see her?”

“Gee, no…” Frank says softly, trying not to let the truth of the words sink into him like hot knives.

“Now that,” Gerard points at his mouth. “That I know is a lie, you're still sleeping with her,” he spits back accusingly.

Frank tries to argue back, saying that they don't anymore, that she knows it is over between them, that he is with Gerard, that he only has Gerard in the future. A part of his brain desperately wishes that was true, wishes he could want that completely. But she is such a part of him; he does not know what will happen when she is no longer in his life. He can't bring himself to think on it as he watches Gerard roll his eyes bitterly and glare at him.

“And I bet she's fucking _thrilled_ that her husband has a bit of ass on the side for when she's not there. A little artist boy,” Gerard sneers. “Not even a girl. Does she know how much you like dick? How much you like to jerk me off while you fuck me? Does she know _you_ like being fucked too?” his voice ratchets up in tone but his words don’t stop long enough for Frank to cut in. “Do you get her to finger you while you fuck her, or while she blows you? Or do you have something in her bedside drawer for that? Do you fuck her like you fuck me; pretend she’s a man? Or do you get all _straight_ as soon as you see a pair of tits?”

“It's not like that! Would you just fucking listen? We're _over_! You've _never_ been a bit of ass on the side to me!” Frank cries, watching Gerard lie down and curl his legs up.

“I hear you,” he replies, suddenly quiet, the fight all spilled out of him. He rolls away to face the wall. “You're married and you're sorry, but you're not with her anymore even though she's still wearing your ring. Got it. Loud and clear. Stop pushing like you can say something that will make it all better.”

Frank flounders for a minute, unable to breathe properly, his body seizing when Gerard whispers, “Hate you for making me feel like this.”

It takes a full minute before his body co-operates and he finds himself kneeling down beside the man on the bed, letting his hand gently trace down his back as he whispers back, “Gee… you're everything, you're fucking everything to me. I'm sorry for everything, I love you.” He knows the words are not enough, too little too late, and can feel the younger man tense under his touch. After a few minutes of watching Gerard's chest rise and fall with small breaths he stands, grabbing a packet of cigarettes and climbs onto the bed, ready to hoist himself out of the window and get away from the horror he has created.

“Frank?”

He hesitates but cannot bear to hope that it is something other than what he deserves.

“I… Come back when you've finished that?”


	4. Division IV

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Frankie?"
> 
> He gets the strangest sense of déjà vu until there are warm hands on his skin, pulling and turning him.
> 
> "Oh my god, what –? It doesn't matter," the voice says. "You're here. Oh my god, you're here. Frankie… Frankie, I didn't think you were coming back!"

He dreams of nothing, waking up to find the sun has moved in the sky and is now illuminating the other side of the room. He blinks a few times before everything comes into focus in front of him. Gerard has his back to him; black hair sprawled across the pillow. He watches him for a minute before gently moving closer and leaning over. He’s a little surprised to find that Gerard's eyes are wide open, his expression blank.

“Hey,” Frank says with a croak, gently placing a hand on his shoulder. Gerard does not move or reply. He gently shakes him. “You okay?” he tries again without success. Frank knows that Gerard won't be okay straight away, but he thought they had made progress before. Gerard not speaking to him is not progress. “Come on, Gee,” he shakes the still form before him again with a little more strength. “Talk to me. What are you thinking?” As the last word leaves his lips he pulls on Gerard's shoulder until he rolls back into Frank. But when he does, his eyes just point to the ceiling instead of the wall and he still doesn't speak.

“Gee?” His voice sounds strained and concerned, even to his own ears. He drapes his hand gently across Gerard's face, painfully noting the lack of reaction, and presses down a little, letting his pinkie finger drop down onto his neck, surreptitiously checking for a pulse. It is there, slow but strong, and the warmth on his skin attests to this fact. “Gee,” he asks again. “Can I get you anything?” and yet again is greeted by only silence. “Uh, water?” This time he doesn't really expect a response, not a _yes, please_ or a _thank you_ , or even a _fuck off_ , even though he would do anything at this point to hear any of those three. Instead, he hauls himself out of the bed and scrambles to the doorway, taking a last glance at Gerard, lying on his back, before he heads into the hallway.

Gerard's mom is in the kitchen when he rounds the corner into the room. He mutters a quick curse under his breath – not because he doesn't like her, far from it, but she is the last person he can explain things to at the moment. Even Mikey would be preferable… Maybe not. She turns at the sound of Frank's footsteps and smiles brightly at him.

“Frankie!” she cries out. “It's nice to see you, how have you been?” She bustles out from behind the counter and envelops him in a tight hug he neither expects, nor honestly wants. He hugs her back anyway.

“Hi Donna, I'm fine. Gee isn't feeling too good so I just though I would get him a glass of water,” he explains when she lets him go, heading towards the familiar cupboards to grab a glass. Donna smiles at him again, glad that her son is having some human interaction and getting out of the basement more often.

“See ya,” he says as he passes her after filling the glass as quickly as he can, trying to slip away.

“Oh, you boys hungry? We have plenty of left-overs from dinner and there is always sandwiches,” she asks, as he backs a few steps into the hallway.

He spins around and does his best to smile. “No thanks, we're good, but thanks,” he says in a voice he hopes won't sound totally contrived. She nods and tells him that he knows where it is if they get hungry later on. He thanks her again before fleeing back down to Gerard's room.

Gerard is back on his side, in the original position and staring blankly. Frank hesitates as he enters the room, feeling as though he shouldn't be there, but seeing Gerard like that makes his gut twist. He closes the door quietly and walks over, placing the glass on the cluttered bedside cabinet. He sees Gerard blink out of the corner of his eye and he freezes, hoping that he is finally shaking off the coma he seems to be under. But no such luck. He feels irritated now and sighs.

“Fucking move or something!” he growls before adding, “Please,” quietly while gesturing with his hands, but Gerard's eyes remain unfocused. He wants to shake him or something. Anything. “Give me some indication you’re still in there!” he tries again and again, gesturing wildly before giving up. He finds his shoes and shoves them on, not bothering with socks. “Fine you want to act like this? I'm going. You've made it obvious you don't want me here.” He stands up again, realizing he has not thought this action through. To leave, he would either have to go upstairs, past Gerard's mom _again_ or stand on the bed and crawl out the window. Neither option seems preferable or ideal. In the end he chooses the window and hoists himself out into the warm air, hoping that Mikey does not look out his bedroom window at that same moment. He takes off at a jog, building up in speed until the footpath is a blur beneath his feet and his pulse is loud in his ears. He runs past the familiar streets, the heat making his skin bead and drip with sweat. It does not help and he feels like shit as his feet pound the pavement.

He runs until he no longer recognizes anything and makes himself turn back. He decides to be civil and use the front door for a change, but the handle feels slightly unfamiliar under his grasp and he can count on one hand how many times he has actually used it to date. He enters the house, attempting to dredge up some bravado as he does so. Donna is in the living room, singing, and he manages to slip past unnoticed. He glances over his shoulder and heads down the hallway before tripping over, almost falling onto the floor on to his hands and knees.

“What the fuck!” he swears, wind-milling his arms hopelessly before righting himself. Mikey is leaning against the wall, arms dangling at his sides although his eyebrows suggest they should be crossed over his chest instead. “Did you just trip me up?” Frank asks as a whispered accusation.

Mikey ignores his questions as his eyebrows practically scream, _You know it. What have you done?_

“N-nothing,” Frank stammers before realizing that he had not actually been asked anything. Crap. Mikey reaches out at that point, his bony hand grasped around his arm and drags him forcibly into his bedroom. Frank's heart is racing and he feels like an ant under a magnifying glass on a sunny day.

Mikey just stands there and for a moment – and Frank contemplates the idea that he may have actually gone deaf – until the familiar monotonous voice tells him, “I should kill you.”

Frank panics. “Why?” he asks, eyes wide and almost fearful.

“Why? You know why. My brother is practically comatose in his room and then only thing to have happened to him in the last two days is you,” Mikey states in that continuing even tone that always totally throws Frank.

He has no reply; instead making a sentence from the beginnings of words. “Wha-n-how-wha?” Mikey just narrows his eyes and raises one eyebrow. Frank swallows hard and begins back slowly out of the room but the tall, gangly teenager has shut the door and all he can do is back against it and grope helplessly for the handle.

“No. You don't get to leave,” Mikey starts. “Not until you fix my brother.”

“I'm trying,” he says, hoping it will be enough. But it is not.

“You're not trying hard enough. I don't know what you did, but I have _never_ seen him like this. Ever,” Mikey allows some emotion to come into his voice although his face remains the same.

Frank swallows hard against the lump in his throat. “I know that, Mikey,” he says softly and drops his gaze, having no desire to fight left in him. He finds the handle and pulls the door open, leaving before Mikey can decide to stop him again. His wrist hurts slightly. The guy has a very firm grip.

“Fix him,” is all he hears as he quickly heads back for Gerard's room.

When he gets downstairs he pulls his shoes off, feet hurting and old blisters forming new ones that have popped and are bleeding painfully. He swallows hard when he sees Gerard still laying there, exactly the same as he had left him. Suddenly all the anger and frustration is gone and all he is left with aching guilt tinged with regret. Of course Gerard would've notice him leave. Why he thought that would make things better, he has no idea. He strips off his soaked shirt and sweat pants, pulling on something vaguely clean. He discards the other items to the floor and gently clambers onto the bed, tucking himself around Gerard and very gently placing his arm around him, tucking his head into the contours of his neck. He closes his eyes and inhales, squeezing his arm ever so slightly as if to say, _I'm here, it's okay_.

*

He wakes up the next morning to Gerard leaning over him slightly, propped up on one elbow. “You should leave,” he tells him, his voice weak but certain. The information doesn’t really register as he blinks the last of the sleep away.

“Wh-what?” he murmurs back and sits up suddenly, making his head spin.

“Leave,” Gerard says again, slightly clearer as if repeating it had made him more sure. He continues to stare until Frank gets uncomfortable and gets up.

“I have nowhere to…” he starts but Gerard is still staring at him as he stands and drops his arms to the side. Frank's breathing catches uncomfortably in his chest because hearing Gerard say that to him was hard enough but they way his eyes bore into him is more than he can bear. “Please Gee…” he tries again but Gerard merely shakes his head. Something about his expression adds the _I can't have you here_ , even though it remains unspoken.

He feels sick and he can hear his blood pumping through his ears. He cannot process what he is hearing and what is happening to him. “Gee,” he tries again, his voice thick and catching behind his teeth.

“Just go,” Gerard tells him, looking away from Frank as the words finally begin to sink into their chests.

Frank cannot breathe and he wants to collapse, but his legs are moving without command, dragging him out of the bed and away. He blinks slowly as he closes the front door behind him and he wants to throw up. His feet move him towards the bus stop, the driver barely looking at him when he is picked up finally.

 _Leave_. Gerard had said to him. _Just go_. He sits down numbly in the back of the bus; feeling nauseated as the driver repeatedly slams on his breaks and takes corners too quickly. _Leave_. The word circles in his head as he starts to feel insubstantial. _Just go_. He squeezes his eyes shut and he is gone.

*

He wakes alone, sprawled and shivering on the back porch of a house. The cold boards are digging into him as he coughs hard, choking and gasping, unable to catch his breath. He can feel the burn of the bile making its way up his throat. He barely registers the fact that it is cold and dark. The little light there is comes from the dull streetlights. He pulls his knees against his chest, swallowing uselessly and coughing harder. He squeezes his eyes shut and feels nothing. He knows the pot plants that line the deck and the fence. The security lights trip as he is racked with another round of hacking coughs. He quickly scrambles to his feet, his limbs uncoordinated and clumsy as he scrambles off the deck and down the side of the house. He hears the door open and footsteps on the wood. He presses himself against the side of the house and sinks to the cold, damp grass. After a second he hears the footsteps again retreat and the door close. The lights are turned off and he is left dazed in the dark once more. He spits onto the ground and after a second stands up shakily as all the strength leaves him.

He knows there are clothes in a box not ten feet from him, but instead he climbs the fence and leaves. He knows that if he stays he will go inside. He knows if he stays he is breaking a promise. He knows if he leaves he is safe. He knows that if he leaves he is alone. He shivers uncontrollably as he slips between the houses, feet feeling as though they are encased in ice as he clings to the night. _Leave_. Gerard had said to him. _If you mean it that then, then you don't need anyone else_. He coughs harder, leaning against someone's house for support as he stomach rolls and he heaves onto the ground. He cannot think, cannot feel anything, can only hear Gerard's voice in his head. He needs to leave this place.

He wipes his mouth on the back of his hand and continues walking. At last he sees clothes and takes them. They are several sizes too big for him and hang uselessly. He finds a bus stop and curls up on the cold metal seat, tucking his legs against his chest and waits for morning. The dawn is slow to rise and is joined by a chorus of birds and slow moving traffic. _Just go_. The words continue to echo in his hollow head and heart as he climbs onto the bus, taking a seat at the back. There is no one else on it yet. He rides it into town with no success. His head swims but he has to catch another four buses until finally he is gone.

*

He coughs and tastes blood in his mouth. It is warmer here and there are the loud sounds of traffic to his left. Gingerly he opens his eyes. It is very bright and he winces, small stones digging into his back and legs. He scrambles to his feet, the stones grazing his skin. He is in the back alley behind some Chinese Restaurant. The dumpster to his right is overflowing and the smell makes him gag and throw up what he’d managed to hold back from the traveling. He is wiping his mouth when one of the chefs comes out, his head bowed, lighting a cigarette, the door closing securely behind him. Frank seizes the chance and throws himself onto the small older man, wrapping his neck in a chokehold and squeezing on the pressure points. The man struggles for long time before he finally succumbs. He keeps him in the hold for a while longer before he releases him and quickly robs his clothing and cigarettes. He pulls the stained and smelling clothes on and walks away without a glance behind him; the street is bustling and busy and no one looks twice. The city before his is unfamiliar, crammed full of tall buildings. The loneliness is beginning to sink in as he wanders in search of food and cash. He gets lucky, seeing a tall man talking on his phone. His wallet is easily slipped out and contains a thick wad of bills and a couple of credit cards. _Leave. Just go_. The words make his throat tighten as he begins to understand what they mean finally. _Leave. Just go_. He does not want food anymore, instead cutting to the other side of the street and following the signs to a small park. He avoids the plagues of children and expectant mothers near the swings and selects a small park bench as far away as possible from the hundreds of pigeons. He holds his head in his hands, elbows digging into his legs as his stomach growls and twists uncomfortably. He cannot remember the last proper meal he had and eventually finds himself standing in front of a hot dog cart. He orders two and sits back down on the hard bench. The smell and feel of them as they slide down his throat makes him feel sick at first, but after a few more bites they are finished and he wipes his fingers on the dirty clothes. Two girls cut around to his left talking boldly and sit down under the shade of a tree. He listens halfheartedly to distract himself as his head drops back into his hands.

They are at college; one of them carrying a bag that is splitting at the seams and held with safety pins, a large stencil splashed across it. The other has backpack from which she extracts a sandwich, offering half to the girl beside her.

“You're crazy for doing med Lil,” the one with the handbag tells the girl with the backpack.

“I know, I’m practically suicidal! I wish I could be doing something more laid back like you,” she replies with a sigh that hints of late nights and cramming. The comment sounds like it should be mocking or sarcastic but lacking the energy to put in the emphasis; Frank can relate.

“Laid back? You've seen the essays I have to write!” the first says, with a mouthful of sandwich.

“Only cause you make me proof them! Seriously dude, it's a labor of love and nothing more,” the second replies, finally taking a bite of her own sandwich half.

“I pay you!” the first says, mouth full again. She sounds playfully indignant.

The second half snorts with laughter. “Yeah, right! In like, cupcakes.”

“You mock my baking?” comes the reply in a voice of partial threat, before the girl is throwing her crusts to the birds. The second girl scuttles backwards.

“Don't encourage them! Argh,” she cries as the other laughs at her.

He zones out as they continue to talk about their classes and boys. His head feels fuzzy and sore. Like it is filled with pressure. _Leave_ , Gerard's voice whispers again in his head. He feels sick and regrets eating, realizing he is scared; terrified. He wants to run but he has no strength to move from the bench. His insides twist as Gerard's voice whispers again. _Just go_ , and his hands shake. Eventually the girls get up and leave and the sun begins to set. It begins to cool quickly but he does not notice. He lays down instead, shivering slightly and tucks himself uncomfortably into a ball on the chair. His clothes are too thin and he can feel every groove in the wood, every dip, every nail as it presses against him. He shivers heavily as the moon rises and the park is bathed in its secondary light. He does not think. He cannot feel. All he hears is Gerard's voice whispering to him. _Promise me I'm enough. What am I to you? Leave. Just go_. He remembers the cigarettes in his pocket and smokes them in succession until he feels completely unsubstantial and finally travels again.

*

The next how ever long is spent in a whirl of unfamiliar times and places. Frank longs for something familiar, something known, but as he sits in the back of another police car after getting caught breaking into someone's house he knows better than to wish for something so unobtainable as normalcy. The car ride to the station is relatively short but he can already feel the sensations of leaving again. He keeps silent as he is dragged up the stairs, handcuffs digging into his raw wrists. The cops do the same charade as they always do, with the same manner – demanding, tired and reeking of coffee and a shift several hours too long. He almost wishes he could see their faces when he does finally disappear, but the officers have left the room momentarily when it happens.

*

He vows to be more careful after the third time he is caught and spends a week in jail.

*

His wishes are granted, though suddenly unwanted, when he comes to again. The carpet is slightly rough against his skin and he is sprawled at the bottom of the stairs. He coughs and his head pounds.

“Frank?” a voice calls from upstairs as he quickly gets to unstable feet, his head is splitting and somehow he makes it into the yard and over the fence before the voice can follow him. “Frank?” she continues to call as he slips down the path between the houses. He is alone. He steals some more old, ragged clothes and feels as though he is held barely together by loose stitches like the ones in his hands.

It is fall, the orange and rust-red leaves filling the gutters and painting the sidewalks. He collapses against the side of a neighbor’s house, leaning his head against the bricks and pressing his palms against his eyes. He hates this. He hates everything about the situation he has found himself in, wishing he could scream, but instead he scrapes his palms against the rough concrete, feeling the warm rush of blood to them. Everything hurts and aches and he feels like his head is going to explode. He wishes he could leave, all the swift changes in time making him weak and he finds himself closing his eyes.

When he opens them again, his stomach twists awfully as he realizes that he is still there. His head feels slightly clearer, but instead his chest feels like it is filled with holes within holes. He struggles to breathe and collapses back against the wall only to feel it dissolve against him instead.

*

He keeps his eyes squeezed shut, feeling the rough asphalt pressed against him. He draws in a shaky breath and emits a hacking cough that tears at his chest, causing him to double over in pain. After they eventually subside he allows himself to open his eyes, finding himself behind a shop with a few pairs of overalls and shirts hanging out the back so gets unsteadily to his feet and yanks a pair down. He quickly pulls them on and heads out into an unfamiliar city. The streets are wider here and there are trees lining the sidewalk. People bustle by and a few even smile at him. He lets a fake smile pull at his lips in reply. He is alone and the thought makes him uncomfortable and scared.

He wanders down the street before coming across a secondhand bookshop. He is drawn inside, finding it small and smelling like old books and leather. He slowly wanders down the shelves, occasionally inclining his head pretending to take note of the titles on the shelf. Eventually an older woman comes up to him, smiling a genuine smile that reaches her eyes. Her dark brown hair is pulled back from her face and her bright hazel eyes are warm and almost familiar.

“Hi,” she says enthusiastically, crossing her arms over her chest. He cannot help but try to smile back but he knows he is failing. “Are you looking for anything?” she asks and he shakes him head. She leaves him be after telling him to ask if there was anything she could help with.

His head and chest ache as he wanders, not searching for anything, bur maybe he deserves this. He is scared and finds himself almost running from the store, the bell trilling in his ears as he pulls the door open and heads back out into the spring warmth. One by one he can feel the tiny stitches that hold him together dissolve. He steals around the back of another building, his breathing ragged and uneven and collapses against the ground, swallowed whole into the next place.

*

The sun is too bright as it beats on his skin, burning. Shaking slightly, he scrambles against the dirt to seek shelter under someone’s hedge. It seems familiar and it is not until he spies the house and the clothes which hang on it does he remember why. He squeezes his eyes shut and tries not to throw up. Of course he is back here.

After a few deep breaths to steel his nerves he glances out again. The house is quiet and he can see no movement inside for the moment. Without really thinking, he rushes forward, snagging some clothes off the line before making a hasty retreat. He is thirsty and almost contemplates going back out into the yard to drink from the hose when the back door opens and two young boys spill out in a tangle of pale white limbs and old, colorful t-shirts. His heart races as he watches them.

Gerard cannot be older than maybe eight, his hair short and messy. Mikey at this stage is a mess of thin limbs and high-pitched giggles as he chases his older brother. It is desperately innocent and makes Frank feel ill. He wants to leave so that he doesn't have to witness this, knowing that in the future he hurts them; that he completely fucks everything up. It's too much and he feels like he’s drowning as his lungs refuse to work. For a brief second he wishes he could just go, but he knows that if he makes a move they will spot him and then he will have to face them.

It slowly dawns on him, as he watches Gerard push his younger brother around in a small wheelbarrow, that he has never really seen Mikey this young. He changes position carefully so not to alert them. They play loudly and he can make out Gerard brandishing a stick as if it were a light saber. At one point Donna comes out, leaning against the doorframe with a cigarette carefully balanced between her manicured fingertips. Gerard quickly voices his desire to go to the park because their yard “Isn't big enough to play Tatooine,” and there are slides and swings there. Donna apologizes, flicking ash off to the side and tells him that it's too dangerous for them to go by themselves and that she has an appointment.

“Maybe tomorrow,” She promises them, but it is hard not to see the disappointment on the two young boys’ features or the regret in her own. Frank watches as she heads back inside, his own fingers twitching for the nicotine, or even just some food or water. He stays hidden however, clinging to the undergrowth as the brothers complain for a decent two minutes before resuming an invisible fight against what could only be an attack from some Tuscan Raiders. Mikey, of course, falls over as Gerard stumbles back, stick still in hand. There is blood suddenly and Frank cannot help but burst out, swearing and asking the younger Way brother if he is okay.

He only realizes his mistake when Mikey makes a strange noise and leans into Gerard, who stutters out “…Frankie? Wha-what are you doing here?”

He swallows hard and tries to access whether Mikey is actually hurt or just prone to falling _a lot_. He tries his best to smile at Gerard, who is now pushing his younger brothers shorts up to see his knee and dabbing at the blood with his t-shirt. It is only then that Mikey starts to cry, choking out that he wants his mom.

“It's alright, Mikey, it's not that bad, I promise,” Gerard tries to reassure him but Mikey shakes his head, tears streaming down his small face.

“Go get your mom, dude, I'll stay with him,” Frank tells him, kind of half shoving the older kid away. He does not really notice Mikey's expression which clearly states _Don't leave me with the crazy stranger_ as Gerard stumbles to his feet, promising to be back in a minute and not to worry.

“I know Frank. He's nice. He'll look after you,” Gerard says and flicks him a hopeful look before running into the house finally.

That seems enough to reassure Mikey who sniffs and looks up at Frank almost critically before stating, “My dad had that shirt.” He then blinks a few times and decidedly does not look at his leg. Frank squats awkwardly beside him. He wants to help but is unsure exactly what to do. “Wait…” Mikey's voice snaps him back to reality. “You're… you're _Frank_? You're real?”

“Yeah I'm real,” he replies with a laugh, watching as the younger boy's eyes widen and he all but yells out “Cool!”

It is at that moment that he sees Gerard come sprinting out of the house, making _follow me_ gestures behind him. Frank takes this as his cue to haul his ass back into the bush, concealing himself as Donna rushes forward asking if her son is all right. Mikey's face changes from one of excitement back into one of worry and pain.

“It's his knee! He fell when he was running away from the Tuscan Raiders!” Gerard tells her helpfully and full of concern, like the Raiders were still in the area and could come back to finish off his brother at any moment, as she crouches down beside Mikey, inspecting his knee. She sighs with a small smile.

“Honey, it's barely more than a paper cut…” She tells him, before planting a kiss on the top of his head and straightening up again. Mikey looks unconvinced as Gerard rushes back inside, returning a few seconds later brandishing a Band-Aid in the air. He insists on sticking it on himself when Donna tries to do it. She stands up straight and heads back towards the house, shaking her head a little and calling out “Be careful if you must play outside.”

Frank remains hidden and still. More than ever he finds himself wishing that he could see his own mom again; to have her hug him and tell him that everything was going to be okay, even if he knows it's a lie. He wonders if she missed him when he started traveling and how she reacted when he stopped coming home. The thought fills him with regret and sadness. But he does not get a chance to dwell on it for long as Gerard comes closer to the hedge, telling him that it's all clear.

“Your mom is still at the window watching you,” Frank replies, half curling himself up. “I really doubt she is gonna wanna see some creepy guy crawling out from her bushes to play with her sons.”

Gerard shrugs and grumbles back “You're not creepy, you're Frankie” like its the most obvious thing in the world. Frank shakes his head even though he knows the young boy cannot see it and tells him that he doubts that she would see things that way. What he doesn't tell Gerard is that he has not yet met her for the first official time and is desperately hoping today is not it. Not after everything the last month has thrown at him. Not after… He swallows, trying not to picture the boy in front of him as a late-teenager and telling him to leave; to go.

Mikey helpfully pipes up and tells them both that he isn't going to tell and that Frank should come play with them. The brothers then proceed to spend the next five minutes trying to coax him out to do so. He tries to reason with them, to no avail as their hazel brown eyes widen, their voices eager and begging. Eventually Gerard reaches into the hedge, wrapping a small hand around his shirt and tugs him out, telling him that he can be a sand person or Ben Kenobi seeing as how he is so much taller than him.

“Seriously?” Frank replies, raising his eyebrows and surrendering to the younger boys command. Of all the things Gerard has called him, _tall_ has never featured among them. He doesn't know whether to piss himself laughing or cry at the thought that the boy before him might never again mock him for being a short-ass. “A sand-person? They don't even talk! They just make weird noises and wave weapons,” he argues back instead.

Gerard sighs and places his hands on his small hips. “I said you could be Ben,” he counters as Mikey yells that he doesn't want to be R2-D2 again. Frank manages to calm Mikey down and begs for a drink of water. He tries to push the thought out of his mind that the drink is just so he can spend time with Gerard, just concentrating on the fact that he is terribly dehydrated with a bitch of a migraine on the way.

“How long are you here for?” Gerard asks as the door slams shut behind his younger brother.

“Not too long this time sorry, Gee,” Frank tells him, ruffling his hair a little, unable to help himself from reaching out for some form of touch and connection, desperate to hold onto whatever memories he can of the boy before him. Gerard nods sadly at his answer before quickly asking if he has been anywhere cool and what he is like in the future when he is all grown up.

Frank shrugs but cannot help but notice the way in which Gerard's mouth forms words is disturbing similar to the way he does it when he is older, all mumbles and out one side of his mouth. He bites his lower lip, trying not to think that if he were older he would be pressing his lips to him. But the boy is seven, maybe eight and is looking at him expectantly for an answer. “Um, nowhere really cool and you're awesome when you grow up,” he tells him, watching as Gerard  grins up at him.

“Cool. They asked me what I wanted to be when I grow up at school last week.”

“Yeah? And what did you tell them?” Frank replies, eager to know.

“I said I wanted to be a time traveler so I could go with you all the time,” Gerard tells him earnestly. It takes all of Frank's strength not to smack his hand to his forehead. The boy frowns and continues. “They told me I had to be serious and think about things that were real… I said I was being serious but I want to be an artist too. They didn't seem too happy with that either but mom said it was a great idea!”

“That's cause they expect you to say that you wanna be a doctor or an engineer or something.”

“But I don't wanna be a doctor! I wanna draw pictures!” Gerard cries indignant, screwing up his face. Frank thinks that this could only get funnier if he stamped his foot. He tells him that he can be anything he wants and is surprised when Gerard suddenly wraps his arms around him and tells him, muffled into his clammy chest, “I wanna come with you. You think I'll ever be able to do that?”

Frank shakes his head sadly and hugs him back, saying he wishes that he could. Mikey comes back a minute later and hands over a bottle of water that Frank takes gratefully and quickly empties. He starts to feel the familiar twisting sensations in his stomach and the ache in his head and knows that his minutes with them are quickly passing. He tells them that he is leaving and is quickly enveloped in yet another hug from the both of them.

“Nice to meet you, Frankie,” Mikey tells him and he echoes it back, stopping himself only just from telling Gerard that he loves him before the pain in his skull is overwhelming and he is gone.

*

He retches onto the ground, head spinning, no longer able to hear Gerard's voice, but his heart aching painfully all the same. The ground is rough under his palms and feet as he scrabbles to his feet. There is a dumpster beside him which looks promising. He strikes gold in the form of an old shirt and a pair of jeans, both with holes in them. Like him. He bites back the emotion that threatens to spill into tears or screams.

He rounds the corner and freezes. His stomach plummeting and he quickly steps backwards on unsteady feet.

Gerard is staggering out of the liquor store, a bottle wrapped in a brown bag in his hands. He is a mess and leaning on some unfamiliar guy who has black messy hair past his shoulders. He takes the bottle from Gerard's uncoordinated hands and opens it before passing it back so that Gerard can raise it to his lips. Frank watches in horror as Gerard drinks deeply before lowering it. Gerard then hands the bottle to the guy he is leaning on, digging around in his the pockets of his dirty hoodie, pulling out a pill bottle.

Frank squeezes his eyes shut, unable to watch, as what remains of his heart is smashed into a hundred thousand pieces or more. He wants to be sick, violently sick. His head pounds and all he can hear is the rush of blood in his ears. He finally opens his eyes to see the dirty skinny guy wrap an arm around Gerard's shoulders. The sight increases his nausea tenfold and, unable to believe what his eyes are showing him, his eyes glaze with hatred for this unknown man with _his_ Gerard. But he cannot move. He cannot make himself go over to them. His body is frozen and all he can do is watch as they stagger down the street together. He feels furious tears boiling out of his eyes and dripping down over his cheeks, leaving hot trails behind them. He feels sobs finally break free, wrenching themselves out of his chest when the two men are at last out of sight.

He stumbles backwards until he feels the cold rough concrete press against him. He slides down the wall as the sobs continue to tear themselves out. He lets them come, not wanting to believe what he has just seen. Gerard. His Gerard. Wasted at four o'clock in the afternoon with… with… He screams hoarsely without words. _No! No! It's not meant to be like this!_ He can hear the blood, thick in his ears, as his fingers claw at the concrete. _Gerard_. His name repeats, long and drawn out with agony, in his head and he continues to sob. Everything hurts and nothing brings relief. He knows he has ruined everything between them. Destroyed their future together. With a sickening realization he knows he is going to be alone. He continues to scream and sob and choke. The emotions he has been holding back explode out finally, ripping and tearing. _No_ , he continues to whisper to himself. _No. This is not real. This cannot be how things work out._ His fingers scrape against the ground, bringing blood to the surface. He has done this to Gerard; driven him to this mess. He wants to die, plain and simple. But death does not come for him however much he wishes it. It is sleep that eventually takes him into its embrace.

He wakes again quickly, the cold air biting into his numb flesh. Disorientated, he glances around. He is still there. Still where he witnessed his future being ripped away from him. Where he witnessed… he shudders as sobs begin to tug at his chest. _No. Gerard. No. No. No no no._ Leaning on someone else; some other man. Had he really been gone that long? So long that Gerard has moved on? Something inside him tells him that Gerard hasn't yet moved on, but is trying his damnedest. The thought cuts him deeply. _Maybe…_ maybe Gerard was never meant to be his, maybe he had gotten it wrong all this time. He doesn't want to accept it as hot tears burn down his cheeks, but it feels like the truth and it hurts and cuts him more than when he read the letter that explained he would not be with Jamia. This was worse. His future has burst into flames before his eyes. He loves this man and with desperate gasps he knows that he loves him more than he has ever believed he could with anyone. Even now he can feel the band between them, the thing that keeps bringing Frank back to him. It is stronger than that of Jamia and it only adds to his fears, but no longer attests to the future he has seen and he knows that. Gerard told him to _leave_.

He smashes his fists down onto the ground, feeling his knuckles crunch under the pressure. All he can see is Gerard’s face smiling at him when he closes his eyes and it only makes the pain worse. How could he? How could Gerard do that to him? He slams his fists back down onto the ground. How could he have done this to _Gerard_? How could he have fucked up so badly? How could he have believed what they had was unconditional? He swears out aloud. He cannot accept it. He won't accept it.

*

He accepts it unwillingly as he wakes finally in the bathroom of the house that he and Jamia share.

He coughs hard before retching into the toilet, feeling like he has been stitched together all wrong. There are no more tears, no more anger, no more hate, just aching loneliness.

“Frankie!” he hears her voice behind him as he spits the last of the bile out of his mouth. Her hand comes into view and passes him some toilet paper and he wipes his mouth and flushes it. He is empty. She wraps her arms around him when he eventually stands but it brings no comfort. He wishes he could enjoy it. He hugs her back before heading to the kitchen. She looks at him strangely as he opens a beer and downs it. On his third she knows better than to ask. His head swims and the alcohol warms him slightly.

“Frankie?” she asks, concerned as he reaches for another.

He closes his eyes. “I don't want to talk about it,” he whispers, so she nods and leaves him alone in the kitchen.

The digital clock on the microwave tells him that it is three in the morning. That would explain the pajamas she is wearing. He breathes and opens the fridge again. There is no more beer, but there is whiskey in the bottom of the pantry and he grabs it out, pouring it into a glass. He empties it down his throat and pours another in quick succession. He downs the next before finally heading towards the stairs, his head is swimming and he stumbles in the dark. The couch would probably been a better idea but he is already half way up the stairs to his bedroom. He staggers over to the bed, draining the last of the glass and sets it on the bedside table before collapsing down.

Jamia stirs beside him and tugs the covers over him automatically. They feel soft and smell like vanilla from Jamia's moisturizer and perfume. It is familiar but no longer comfortable.

“You're drunk,” she tells him, her eyes still closed but her forehead creasing in concern. He does not reply and closes his eyes instead. Slowly he feels himself drift off, everything spinning sickeningly until he passes out completely.

“Mmm… missed you,” a voice whispers in his ear and he shivers as hands slowly move on his chest, heading downwards. The contact sends tingles all over his body and he moans in despite still being half asleep and mostly drunk, his breathing speeding up. Suddenly the hands are between his legs and he spreads them eagerly, panting, but the hands keep moving.

 _Gee..._ Frank moans in his throat, squeezing his eyes shut against the teasing fingers.

One of the roaming hands suddenly wraps around his hardening cock, making him moan louder and thrust against it.

“Yeah, Frankie,” the voice tells him, working him faster, but he suddenly realizes that the voice is wrong and his eyes fly open. “Wha…” he starts, flipping his head quickly to the side.

Jamia smiles at him, licking her lower lip. He cringes away but her hand moves with him. _Oh god, Gee…_ he had promised. Frank had _promised_ him. But her hand keeps working him up and it feels good. “Fuck,” he swears breathlessly as the guilt wraps itself around his neck, squeezing. His head is a blurry mess but through that he wants to pull away, his body ignoring him, reacting against him and leans into her touch. It is achingly good.

Eventually he surrenders himself to her as she gently straddles him. His throat squeezes. Through the alcoholic haze he knows he has completely fucked things up things with Gerard. _Gerard…_ Maybe, maybe this is all he has left, even though he knows he will not have this for very long either. He closes his eyes and gives in, his hands moving quickly against her as her mouth crashes against him.

He feels insubstantial when she rolls off him, their bodies tingling and his head spinning after spilling himself into her. He swallows hard and is gone.

*

He throws up immediately, his head spins and his body aches and throbs. The rough concrete presses harshly into his hands and knees.

It's cold. Of course it's fucking cold. There is snow falling on his eyelashes it's so fucking cold.

He tries to get up but stumbles a few half steps until he crashes back to the ground again. Instead, he tries to crawl, making a crooked line until his knees burn with the chill and his palms are raw, but finally makes it behind a small store. There is a sign on the back door, not five feet from him, but it keeps swimming across his vision and the wall next to him seems more and more unstable the longer he keeps his eyes open. But when he closes them, he sees Jamia above him, head thrown back and gasping, and he feels sick again. It's not her voice calling his name, though. A voice smooth and strong breaks into his mind. _Leave. Just go_.

Frank empties a large portion of the beer from his stomach onto the frosted steps beside him. Everything he'd seen in the future was gone now. There was no fixing this. Gerard had told him to go and meant it; he'd found someone new to replace him. And as much as it hurt him to believe it, a tiny part of him knows that Gerard is probably better off with someone who can actually be there for him, who doesn’t leave when he is needed, who doesn’t have the same temptations that Frank has. Frank sighs to himself darkly, seeing Gerard's face as he told him to leave and hearing the words again, over and over, more regularly than they had been in the hours – days? – since he first heard them.

A pile of snow falls from the roof a few feet from him, pulling his mind back to his current situation, forcing his eyes to open to determine possible threat. He shivers. There’s no one around, it’s getting dark, and there is no way he can walk anywhere to acquire clothing or shelter. Some part of his brain – survival instinct he guesses – points out that he could die out here because of his own stupidity. He ignores it. He _deserves_ this. He vomits again and becomes aware of the smell. It makes him gag again, but his stomach apparently isn't ready for another onslaught so he chokes and coughs instead and by the time his lungs return to a state that can be passed off as normal, his head starts to ache.

He doesn’t drink a hell of a lot usually. It always made Gerard uncomfortable because of his family's history. Gerard… Frank winces at the image of him slung around that man outside the liquor store, grasping onto him as though he was the only think keeping him upright. Grasping with his other hand to the bottle at his lips or the pills from his jacket pocket. _Guess he's gotten over that fear_ , Frank thinks bitterly before realizing that he has no right to be angry about Gerard's choices after what he has done to him. He'll never forgive himself, how can he expect forgiveness from the one he put all of this on. _Leave. Just go_. The man will not forgive him. Frank knows that. So maybe, just maybe, that was why he had ended up in Jamia's house… Is he meant to go back to her? He can't tell anymore. The pull isn't so strong to her now, nothing compared to how he feels when he finds himself in Gerard's timeline. But Gerard won't have him anymore.

Frank cries openly, his vision still blurred and his stomach heaving and churning every now and again, demanding to expel the poisons within.

The next time he becomes aware of himself he notices that he has stopped shaking altogether, too cold for his brain to keep trying to save him. He must have passed out at some point, because he wakes in the darkness, curled into himself, still on the back steps of the store. When he looks up, the world doesn't spin so much and his head feels more like it's swollen than like someone has put an axe through it. He notices the sign on the door again; it's a bookstore. He doesn't know if he recognizes it or not, but it doesn't matter. He throws up once more before he feels the pull he has become so familiar with take hold. He wishes it wouldn't. He can't go back to Gerard, and he only has limited time with Jamia. Then it will be over for him and the thought scares him more than anything else: years and years of running from Gerard, until the pull wears off, if it ever does, and then living alone. If he could meet new people and know that he could find them again it wouldn't be so bad, but experience tells him that only the ones he is drawn to are the ones he will ever know. Frank waits through the minutes until he disappears, hoping he can get away from wherever he lands long enough to die quietly, wishing he wasn't so sober again. Wishing he could make it stop.

*

He feels the warmth on his skin and it nearly lets a new stream of tears flood forward unwillingly. _Why?_ As he opens his eyes a voice, urgent and surprised, floats down to him.

"Frankie?"

He gets the strangest sense of déjà vu until there are warm hands on his skin, pulling and turning him.

"Oh my god, what –? It doesn't matter," the voice says. "You're here. Oh my god, you're here. Frankie… Frankie, I didn't think you were coming back!"

As his eyes adjusted he sees a face close to his own, dark eyes, darker hair and an upturned nose. "Gee?"

A small laugh breaks out from the lips in front of him. "Yeah, Frankie, it's me. You're okay." Frank has serious doubts about that last part, but Gerard has his arms around him now, clinging desperately as Frank shivers violently. "God, I missed you so much… It's been months! Months!" His hands smooth over the skin on his back and this time Frank does cry. Gerard's touch is burning hot on his freezing skin.

"Gee?" Frank asks again through choked sobs and feels the fingers on his back dig in a little, as though Gerard expected this about as much as Frank did.

"I can't believe you're back," he says, and Frank notices that Gerard is crying too. His hands tentatively reach forward before his brain kicks back in and he remembers what he has done. How this can't be happening. This is definitely the Gerard from the same timeline that has already told Frank to leave, so he doesn’t understand. But it's almost like Gerard had planned this moment, because he pulls away from Frank, not enough to break contact – and his hands keep roaming over Frank's face, neck and chest – but enough to look him in the eye. "You were gone… And it hurt so much more than anything else. I…" He smiles, like he is insisting Frank believe him. "I can't not be with you."

Frank sobs loudly in spite of himself as he remembers those words leaving his own mouth not so long ago. But before he can do anything else, Gerard is pressed close to him again, hands sliding over his slowly warming skin, from the nape of his neck to the dip in the small of his back, around his hips and over his stomach and chest. And then Gerard leans closer still and ghosts his lips over Frank's for just a moment before seeming to lose control entirely and kisses him hard and needy, his hands retracing their steps and adding any inch of Frank's skin they haven't touched already to their path. Frank can't quite register what is happening for several moments, but then Gerard's words sink in and he understands.

"I'm sorry," he gasps in the second it takes to catch his breath.

Gerard just shushes him, bringing one hand up to his face as the other grips at the back of Frank's bare knee. "None of that now. You're here," he whispers and dives back in. A strangled moan escapes Frank's raw throat, but gets lost in Gerard's mouth, as his hands finally fly up to the neck of Gerard’s t-shirt before sprawling in his hair, pulling him close as he kisses back.

The floor is cold and hard and eventually they struggle back to the bed, not able to take their hands off one another. The only time they break apart is when Gerard awkwardly pulls his t-shirt over his head and shucks his pants, stumbling. Frank's hands stay on his, moving them quickly as if trying to imprint the memory of the way his burning skin feels into his memory. After what felt like hours of touches and kisses, Frank still shivers under Gerard's fingers, both of them still unable to pull away, even for a second. His mind is a mess, he doesn't deserve this, he doesn't deserve any of it, God knows he doesn’t, but Gerard keeps kissing him back, his hands keep roaming over his cold body, making him his. He feels Gerard gasp into his mouth as Frank brushes his fingertips down his inner thigh.

He detaches his lips only long enough to draw breath and sigh out a quiet "Gee," before letting his trembling hand grasp firmly around Gerard's cock. It's hard, he'd known that already, but the sounds Gerard makes as he traces his palm along it are unlike anything Frank has heard before: needy, desperate, turned on and… and relieved. More relieved than Frank had ever known him to be. His other hand grips tighter at his back, sliding up into the hair at the base of his skull before he is grasping with both hands. It's barely a moment while Frank tests and changes his grip before he lets out a sharp gasp of his own at the sudden pressure on his own cock. Gerard is looking with fully blown pupils directly at him as he kisses him hard, tongue tracing along Frank's lower lip. He kisses his way along his jaw line until he finds the spot that makes Frank go mad. He licks and bites at the spot where his neck joins his shoulder, feeling his lover shudder against his insistent mouth. Frank arches suddenly into him, unintentionally hindering both of their efforts for a second before falling back and whimpering as Gerard relents and returns to his lips once more. It is a rough and desperate flurry of hands between them as both work each other closer.

"Frankie," the word is more felt than heard and it makes Frank moan louder as Gerard moves his hands perfectly; one stuttering quickly over his cock, the other low on his spine, grabbing and scrambling for purchase on Frank's sweat drenched skin. He doesn't realize that Gerard's cry had been in warning, not until the body before him shakes violently and their kiss becomes more one sided as Gerard loses control of his body, mouth open and gasping to get enough air, but still looking at Frank directly.

Frank bites into his lower lip hard and murmurs "Come on," before gripping hard and quickening his movements. Gerard cries out loudly as he comes, spilling onto Frank's hand and collapsing onto the bed once more. He blinks a few times in the afterglow, but even then he doesn't disconnect at any point, and reaches back down until Frank whimpers again, stroking him hard through the moments it takes before Frank follows with a tug of Gerard's hair and a string of expletives with Gerard's name attached in several places. Frank collapses on top of him, pressing their damp bodies together and kissing him desperately while his hands trail back up to Gerard's face and collarbones. Gerard kisses him back with as much force as before, his hands skidding up Frank's back, sending shivers with them until they entangle themselves in Frank's hair. He is still breathing quickly and unevenly, their bodies slippery against each other in a mess of sweat and come.

“Frank…” Gerard whispers through the feverish kisses and touches.

"Mmm?" Frank replies, muffled into his lover’s mouth, still enthralled by the feeling of Gerard's soft, smooth skin, unbelievably hot underneath his rough palms. His heart is still beating furiously in his chest and finally he is no longer cold. He is still breathing quickly and unevenly, their bodies slick together.

“Frank…” Gerard whispers again before crashing his lips back against Frank's. The kiss, like all the others is filled with longing and relief from the pain in both of them. Frank's only reply is to kiss him back harder, gently tugging Gerard's bottom lip with his teeth. Gerard moans loudly yet again and shoves his own tongue deeper into Frank's mouth the minute he lets his lip go, hands grabbing the roots of Frank's hair and tugging. He gasps as Gerard's mouth trails down his jaw, still tugging strongly at his hair.

"Gee," he cries, his hands gripping at his neck and waist, pulling his body closer. Gerard lets his hair go for a second as his hands make a new course, moving his mouth back up as he does so before rolling Frank underneath him. He pulls back, one hand now cupping Frank's defined jaw line, the other on his hip, fingers tracing over the faint rises of ink there. His breathing is rough and uneven, as is his voice when he finally speaks.

“I almost forgot how beautiful you are,” he whispers, lowering his head and kissing where the ink flows under Frank's skin.

Frank bites his lip, enjoying it for a second. “Gee…” he starts breathlessly as the chapped but soft lips move to the scorpion tattoo on his neck.

“So beautiful,” Gerard tells him, trailing his lips down his left arm.

Frank tries to speak, the words not coming out of his mouth right. “How long was I gone?”

Gerard ignores him. “So… Fucking… Beautiful…” he says between kisses, making Frank's heart race and his head swim. At last Gerard tells him “Too long,” but it's not the answer he needs to hear.

“How long?” he tries again, struggling to breathe. But Gerard returns his mouth to Frank’s neck instead and licks up over the tattoo that is there. He cannot help but moan, his back arching up against his will.

“Frankie…” Gerard says breathlessly, before giving him another lick. He cannot stop himself from calling out Gerard's name and begging for an answer. Gerard just shakes his head while trying to keep kissing. “It doesn't matter, you're back,” he is told.

He gently brings his hands up to gently push Gerard back a little, breaking away from the assault that Gerard is placing on his exposed skin. “You told me to leave Gee…” he says softly, pain breaking through. “I… I don't know… do you even want me here?”

Gerard's eyes go large and fearful and he crashes his mouth back against Frank's, kissing him harder. “Don't go,” he tells him, begs him, in-between the kisses. “Please don't go.”

Frank kisses him back, cupping his head with scraped palms. “I won't, I won't,” he promises before pulling back once again with blinding realization. “Christ, are you drunk?” _This is bad_.

Gerard clings to him tightly. “Please don't go,” he keeps begging desperately. “Please.”

“I'm scared here, Gee… what… what happened to you?” he gasps out finally. _This is really bad_. Gerard just buries his face into his neck; hands clinging to him like a drowning man.

“A year, longer,” he whispers there, his warm breath tingling Frank's cool skin.

“Shit,” he swears, mind going blank suddenly, and holds the shaking man closer to him. “I didn't mean for this to happen.” Gerard sobs against him. His words begin to sink in finally. A year? Longer? Fuck! He had no idea; but possibly neither does the shaking man pressed against him. “Longer than a year,” he repeats, shell-shocked. “Are you sure?”

Gerard sniffs loudly and asks what month it is. Frank really has no idea but the way the leaves are heaped outside means that it is most definitely fall, possibly sometime in late September. He relays this and feels Gerard still almost completely against him. It takes a few long moments for the information to sink in. But he knows that it was early in the summer last time he had been here and talked to the man in front of him. That makes it eighteen months.

The thought occurs to him that Gerard has spent eighteen months with no one there for him when he hit rock fucking bottom. Shit.


	5. Division V

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Doctors don't hand out anti-anxiety meds for breakups, Frank.”

Frank rolls off the pale man, leaning back against the pillows and trying to breathe. Eighteen months. It seems too long. Much too long. His hand remains on Gerard's narrow hip, slowly moving along the heat and the warmth there. The information seems too much for either of them to process right now as silence overtakes them, broken only by their uneven breathing. He feels bad, like he has taken advantage of the man beside him who is more drunk than just tipsy.

After a few minutes, Gerard's hands resume their spreading search across his body, as if he is trying to map it all out again. He cannot help but shiver against the dance on fingertips now on his chest and ribs. He rolls over, facing him. Gerard gives him a small smile and presses their lips and bodies together once more, oblivious to the cooling mess on both of them.

Frank tries not to care and kisses back, allowing his body to mold against Gerard once more, but his mind will not turn off and he cannot help but feel that something is not quite right. He has seen Gerard drunk before, sure, but this is different. He tries to pin it down to the fact that the man he is currently holding is a whole year and a half older than what he has previously seen. But even that doesn't seem to sit right. He pulls away for a second and hears Gerard whimper, yanking them back together and connecting their mouths once more. When he is finally able to take a breath he asks him what happened, but predictably Gerard dodges the question, distracting him by sliding a hand between his thighs.

Frank tries, it happens again four more times though, and by this point he realizes that the man currently attempting to blow him has only answered him with “Doesn't matter,” “Not important,” or “You're beautiful, I missed you.” It is a bit too soon and his body does not seem to want to co-operate. Reluctantly he tries to pull Gerard away, which results only in him fighting to stay, attempting to get Frank hard.

“Stop, Gee,” he tells him, trying to stall the emotion thick and heavy in his voice. The younger man eventually resurfaces, licking and sucking at any available skin within close reach. Frank grabs his face and stares at him. He cannot help frowning as he stares into Gerard's dark eyes, pupils blown wide, even in the bright midday light. “What the hell are you on?” he demands before really thinking and tells him that he doesn't want to do this if Gerard isn't sober and won't remember.

It is apparently the wrong thing to say as Gerard glares at him, rolling off and facing away from him, muttering back “Didn't care so much before you got off. This is who I am now.”

The comment rips through him. How could he not care? Of course he should've stopped and taken a moment to realize something was wrong, but the sheer relief of seeing him, being able to _touch_ him overrode all sensibilities. He doesn't quite grasp what Gerard means. How could this be who he is now? He frowns, confused. He tries to apologize and tell him that of course he cares. “Come on Gee, please? I can help.” Again, as soon as the words leave his lips he knows that they are wrong. That he is wrong. He can't help, not when he was the one who made Gerard like this. The thought makes him want to throw up or something, go back and fix things. But he can't.

“Help with what? I'm fine, I don't need any help,” Gerard replies defensively, curling up a little and probably glaring daggers across his room where Frank cannot see.

After a few seconds of waiting for the younger man to roll back over, he gives up. Reaching down, he turns Gerard's face to him. “You're high,” he states, staring into his eyes. He's not an idiot.

Gerard tries to squirm away, swearing and fervently denying it. But his denial comes on a little thick and the way his body twitches betrays the lie that has slipped from his lips. Frank sighs and settles down beside him once more, subconsciously curling around him slightly.

“Yeah, you are,” he says with a sigh. “Your pupils could swallow the sun right now, dude. I don't… just don't lie to me about shit like that.” It comes out a little harsher than what he meant. He knows that he is damned lucky to be here, to be with him, but he cannot help but feel the slight sting of disappointment that the man beside him is not even sober. It only then strikes him that Gerard is still in his pajamas and clearly has gotten drunk or whatever by himself.

Unsure of what to do with this new information, he listens to Gerard's pissy mumbling denials and stern “I'm fine.”

Silence claims them again. Frank tries not to think but his mind seems to be intent on racing a hundred miles in hour trying to find a way to fix things. To fix him. To fix them. It keeps drawing blanks or coming up with totally impossible suggestions. Eventually he just presses his mouth against Gerard's bare, warm shoulder and mouths, “Missed you, thought you never wanted to see me again.” This does not make things better, he finds out when Gerard rolls over, glaring at him, eyes half narrowed and flickering as though staring is too difficult.

“That's why you didn't come back? You're saying it's my fault?”

Frank opens his mouth to reply but his stomach growls loudly, beating him to it. The younger man tells him that there is food upstairs while he rolls back over. The idea of eating makes saliva pool in his mouth and his stomach twist emptily. “You told me to leave,” he replies however, slightly confused. He was damned sure he understood what Gerard had meant when he had told him that. _Leave. Just go._ He shudders.

“And you decided I meant _never come back_ as well? Fuck you, Frank. That was all you.”

It feels like the truth and makes Frank feel like shit but suddenly he is arguing back. “No, I can only go where I get pulled, Gee. It's not a fucking choice, okay? Besides, that last time I saw you, you were hanging off some other guy, drunk out of your fucking head and tossing pills back like they were candy!”

“You don't know shit about what's happened since you left, okay?! Don't judge me ‘cause you have no idea.”

“Then for the love of god tell me! It's not like you're gonna remember this tomorrow anyway,” Frank spits back, unaware of the bitterness and vile that has crept into his words. He wants to fight, to get Gerard to actually speak to him, but he doesn't rise to the challenge again.

Instead, very quietly, he gets a reply of, “It's nothing. 'm fine. Doesn't matter.”

“Really?” He asks, unconvinced. “Cause it sure as shit didn't look like it, what were those pills anyway? Gerard?”

“Doctor gave them to me,” comes the swift reply as Frank glares at the body beside him.

He does not see the fragility in the way the younger man's spine curves out of his white flesh, or the way his own shoulders are hunched in disgust and disappointment. He feels betrayed and does not want to impart any sympathies. His stomach once again demands attention as he stares up at the ceiling and the shadows sprawled across it. Bit by bit he feels the resentment lessen, leaving him feeling hollow and afraid. He wants to apologize, to take Gerard back into his arms and make him better. He knows this is best attempted with some sort of food inside him, as he is unable to really recall the last proper meal he had.

Slowly extracting himself from their nest of blankets and unwashed sheets, he heads upstairs after tugging some of Gerard's clothes on and trying not to be overly aware of the way Gerard's gaze burns into him as he does so.

He is successful in avoiding the other occupants of the house. He hates to think about how Donna or even Mikey would react to him being back here, digging through their cupboard.

Upon his return to the basement, he notices that Gerard's eyes are still open. “Hey,” he says softly, crawling back onto his side of the narrow bed, hands filled with food and a can of coke. “You want some?” he offers, reaching across to wave the unopened can in front of Gerard's face.

The younger man just shakes his head and licks his thin, slightly raw lips, so Frank attempts to make conversation through mouthfuls of food. “Can't believe it's been a year and a half, so weird. I hardly ever leave you for long periods of time now. You gonna fill me in on what I missed?”

His attempts do not work as Gerard just shakes his head again, as if it is too difficult to voice.

“Okay,” he says, switching tack and laying back down again. “So who was the random guy I saw you with? New friend?”

“You mean Bert?” the figure beside him replies quietly with a small sniff, half rolling over again. Frank gives a vague description of a dirty looking guy with long messy hair to which Gerard gives a small nod of confirmation and tells him that he hasn't heard from him in a couple of weeks.

“He got me out of the house, I guess. Sometimes I don't hear from him for a while. He knows lots of people.” There is something off about Gerard's tone and the way he shrugs his pale shoulders but Frank does not know what. As if by mistake their hands curl together under the blankets, seeking comfort and confirmation.

“So how's school going? You on break?”

Gerard shifts a little uneasily but does not break contact. “Um, yeah. I'm kinda… on hiatus from school I guess? I needed some time off. Don't really know if it's what I want to do anyway…” His voice trails off as Frank's eyes widen in shock.

“You serious?” he asks, incredulously. “But you're good, Gee! You're really good! Why the hell are you just giving up?!” They pulled back from each other, confusion and hurt evident on both their faces.

“I didn't just _give it up_ , Frank, I couldn't do it. Couldn't keep up. Been failing…” Gerard trails off, his voice betraying shame. “I can't draw anymore. I don't have anything _to_ draw.”

It takes a minute or so for this new information to sink in. For as long as Frank has known him, Gerard has always been able to draw. It was like his _thing_. He cannot help but ask what has changed and if it is just because he doesn't want to do it anymore. More than anything he hopes the answer is one that he can stomach.

“No, you don't get it. I want to,” Gerard replies, exasperated, breath coming in short gasps. “I _can't_. I pick up a pencil or a pen or anything and nothing happens.”

Frank demands to be shown, unable to believe that not being able to is even an option for the young man beside him. So he rolls ungracefully out of bed and picks up a scrap of paper and pencil from under the bed. He watches as Gerard stares at the paper, looking more and more distressed, his eyes welling slightly as they meet his.

“You need to tell me what to draw.”

“Draw me a…” Frank looks around the room. “A zombie. Standing outside and looking up all confused at rain clouds.” Yeah, he thinks, _raaaiiins_ , that's awesome.

Gerard's hand tightens around the pencil and for a second he moves it slightly before throwing it and the paper away with a cry of “I… I… don't know how! I can't do it anymore! I can't! It's been a year! A whole fucking year! I don't… have anything else,” he sags down onto the bed before Frank grabs him, tugging him back in beside him. Gerard curls up almost instantly and reaches for a plastic drink bottle from under the bed. Frank waits a few seconds and takes it from him, taking a mouthful. The liquid inside burns down his throat and is unmistakably alcohol.

“Gee,” he croaks out. “This is straight vodka…” Panic sets in as his brain whites out of anything useful that could help him in this situation. He knew it was bad, but this bad?

“Just helps me get up in the morning,” Gerard tells him softly, wincing and keeping his head down.

It takes all of Frank's strength not to yell as he scampers out of the bed, pacing around the cluttered bedroom. “It's like four o'clock in the afternoon… this is not… it shouldn't be like this!” His hands arch wildly in the air, gesturing.

“It's fine, Frank, I just… It helps okay?”

Frank spins around, facing him again. He knows he should lower his voice but he can't. He doesn't seem to be in control of much of his own body at that moment. He demands to know how this could possibly be helpful and if Gerard even _thought_ to talk to someone about this.

“I did!” Gerard replies defensively, half sitting up in the bed with the filthy covers sprawled down over his legs and waist. “I told you, Mikey took me to a doctor. This just… lets me feel.” The last part is mumbled and almost indistinguishable. “The Xanex takes that away, so I needed to get it from somewhere else.”

Frank feels sick and swears loudly. His knees feel like they will give at any moment, taking him down with them to the floor. He might not know much, but he knows that pills like that are not meant to be taken with alcohol. He voices this, still flailing his limbs.

“I've got a prescription. The doctor gave them to me,” Gerard tells him, shrinking back somewhat in the bed as though he is both defiant and afraid.

“I don't…” Frank replies, sitting on the bed. “Why are you doing this? Is it cause I didn't come back? I never meant for this to happen, I swear.”

“Doctors don't hand out anti-anxiety meds for breakups, Frank.”

Gerard's tone is cool and almost harsh, like a slap across the face. The word _breakups_ seems weird to Frank's ears, as the people in his life always meant something more than just the usual boyfriend/girlfriend titles. Something more enduring. Something more meaningful. It only just occurs to him now that the man beside him probably never saw it like that. He hates him for trivializing it. For not seeing how they were… _are_ more.

“It’s the nightmares, every time I close my eyes,” Gerard continues, his young features twisting into a wince. It is only when Frank demands to be told, grabbing him a little too roughly that Gerard explodes. “You have no idea! I wasn't safe in my own fucking head! I couldn't close my eyes without seeing everyone I love burn! You, my parents, Mikey! I heard your screams even when I woke up. If that isn't bad enough, I fucking _feel_ it too! I feel myself burn along with you all! Sometimes I'm awake and swear someone was still squeezing around my neck. I can't fucking breathe… I can't…” He draws in a shaking breath, curling in on himself. “I'm just trying to act like a fucking human being here, or as close to one as I can manage.”

Frank finds himself reaching out and pull the man into an awkward hug. He feels the Gerard try to fight him off for a moment before giving up and becoming pliant in his arms. He whispers apologies again and again as he rocks them, hugging his body closer in a vain attempt at comfort. He wants to know if he can stay, if he still wants him. But he cannot bring himself to voice the questions. Cannot bring himself to be that selfish after what Gerard has just told him. So he does the only thing he can really think of and lets his body take over, pushing their mouths together, hard and insistent.

Gerard pulls back almost automatically, scampering back a little. Frank mutters a quick apology, ducking his head a little. Of course Gerard reacted like that, what the hell was he expecting? He feels fingers on his cheek, directing his gaze back up a few seconds later. The younger man is leaning closer, blinking at him.

“This feels so wrong… you're not even going to remember this.”

Frank does not realize he has uttered these words out loud until Gerard's warm, caressing fingers are hastily retracted and he stammers back “I… wron–? Fuck. I should, like, go. Or something.” He staggers out of the bed, half smacking into Frank in his rush and tugging his pajamas back on.

“Gee, this is your house. Come back.”

Gerard turns around, shaking his head and looking confused and really pissed off. “This is me now,” he states, crossing his pale arms. “I'm sorry if I'm not what you want anymore but this is how I am now.”

It takes all of Frank's strength not to yell _No!_ as he grabs him again, fingers digging in a little too deeply into the fleshy parts of Gerard's upper arms. “This is going to _kill_ you!”

“I can control it. It all sounds bad, I know, but it's not really. It's the closest I've been to human in nearly a year. I'm not going to drink myself to death or anything.”

“Control it?” He wants to scream, how the hell could Gerard do this? Acting like he fucking likes being like this. Instead he finds himself begging, pleading with the man in his too-tight grip. “Stop… please, Gee… this isn't good.”

“I can't!” Gerard yells, wrenching himself out of his grasp. “Fuck! Aren't you listening? If I do, it will be horrible again; they won't know what to do with me! At least I can hold a fucking conversation now!”

“I can't and won't sit back and watch you destroy yourself like this.”

“So you _are_ leaving again, then? Cause if you are, you should do it now. It'll only be harder if you stay longer. I donno, maybe it's easier with Ja-Jamia. I don't want to lose you again but if I have to, please don't make it harder than it already will be.”

Frank flinches at the way that Gerard's voice stutters over his _wife's_ name, hard and unforgiving. His mind is blank as to what he should say. “You're fucking _everything_ to me,” slips out regardless. It's not the right moment and he knows it will make no difference. He watches as Gerard squeezes him eyes shut and demands to know if he is leaving. “You gonna make me?” he retorts thinking that they have finally come to a breaking point. One of them is going to have to give in and he'll be damned if it’s going to be him. “Look, I want you to be better. I wanna make you better… Fuck Gee,” he starts scrambling over words. “You have no idea. In the future, we live in New York, you exhibit at the fucking Met’, you're _happy_ …you draw, all the time, on everything, even the napkins at diners… Please don't just–”

Gerard cuts him off suddenly. “Why are you telling me this? You never tell me about the future, seriously, how the hell do you think you can make me better? I'm not fucking sick, Frank.”

“Because you need to know that you can do this!” Frank replies, sucking in a breath. “That you don't need to drink and pop pills to be happy or whatever. That you can live with me, in our little apartment that has a bathtub and no shower and hardwood floors. It becomes more like your full time studio to be honest…” He’s about to smile at the images in his mind but stops when he sees the expression on Gerard's face.

“Don't… I… I don't wanna know what I've lost.”

“You haven't, not yet,” Frank tries to reassure him, tells him that he'll be there for him to wake him from his nightmares.

“How?!” Gerard demands, emotions pitching his voice and making his breaths come in rushed waves. “How exactly are you going to save me from it once I'm awake?!”

It takes a few seconds for the meaning of the younger man's words to sink in and make sense. “Wait… You're hallucinating? This is happening when you're awake too?”

“That's what I fucking said! I wake up and it doesn't go away! That's why I need the pills and the pills are why I need to drink! It goes away when I take the pills and I can feel again when I drink, okay?!”

A cold sweat breaks out over Franks skin. Hallucinating. Gerard has been _hallucinating_. He didn't think things could get worse, but they have. He whispers an accusation that Gerard has been taking something else. That Xanex and booze don't do that to someone's eyes. He asks straight up if he is taking speed.

“What?! No! Fuck, Frank! You think this is helping?! Accusing me of using whatever the hell you can think of?!”

Gerard shoves his chest with just enough force to take a step back as Frank denies accusing him and asks if “That guy, Brad or whatever, is he a dealer? Has he been supplying you?”

“ _Bert_ just wanted to take me out of the house, have a few drinks and show me off,” Gerard says a little nastily.

“Show you…” The words don't make sense to Frank. “The fuck?! What does _that_ mean? Are you fucking him? Is that what this is?” It hurts him to say it, but the expression on Gerard's face shows much more pain.

“What the… No! And I'd be careful if I were you right now,” his eyes flick to Frank's neck. “I'm not the one with a _wife_ here. You do not have a single fucking piece of solid ground to stand on when it comes to cheating. You say you never had time to get it annulled or whatever, but you had time to get a tattoo about it. And I never _touched_ Bert. Never _wanted_ to.” Gerard stops himself and holds his hands up, taking a few steps back and leaning against his desk for support. “Fuck, I don't wanna talk about this again. I shouldn't have brought it up but you shouldn't automatically think the worst of me.”

Frank defensively bites back “I don't!” before begging him to just talk with him, to tell him what has been going on. For the first time in a long while he does not understand the man in front of him. He is tired of the erratic rollercoaster but needs to know, needs to understand what he has gone through, what Frank has put him through.

He watches as Gerard pulls at his own greasy hair and tells him with a broken face that he had nightmares that stuck with him, even when he was awake, that Mikey took him to the doctor, that he stopped being able to draw and failed most of the semester at school, that when he met Bert and went it out drinking it was the most he'd felt in months so he kept drinking.

Frank is kind of shocked and it takes a good few attempts before he is actually able to talk, but when he is he asks if the nightmares are every night still, to which Gerard shakes his head.

“Could you try?” he finds himself asking. “Tonight? I mean, don't take the pills?”

He expects Gerard to get angry or lash out at him but instead he shakes his head, his dark hazel eyes wide and afraid. “I… I can't… no… I… no. If you knew what they were like you'd never ask me to do that. I don't care if you think I'm addicted, as long as the dreams don't come back.”

Frank sits back down on the bed dejectedly. He doesn't want this. “What the hell am I meant to do here Gerard? You don't want help; you don't want to get better. Hell, I don't know if you'll even want _me_ when you're sober… if you're sober.”

“I don't need help. I'm fine” Gerard reassures him, sitting down beside him and placing one hand onto Frank's leg and the other in his hair, twisting the longer strands with shaking fingertips. “Always want you,” he adds. With that, he leans in and kisses him, hand sliding further up Frank's thigh. Frank freezes, pulls regrettably back and tells him no. Gerard follows his movements and scatters kisses down his unshaven jaw, mouthing, “Always want you, Frankie.”

“Stop it.”

It is enough to make the younger man pause and lift his eyes. “Thought you said you _do_ want me?” he guilts and is rewarded with Frank's small shudder and silence. Gerard resumes his peppering of kisses, trailing them back to Frank's lips. After a few moments Frank allows himself to touch, to respond to Gerard's insistent, hot mouth. A low moan slips from him as the younger man awkwardly half-crawls into his lap, pressing him down into the mess of dirty blankets. “Love you, Frankie,” he whispers as his hands and lips roam. Frank draws in a quick breath and tries not to think about what they are about to do. How this may be the best he will get from now on and possibly the last he will ever have with him. He does not allow himself to feel the pain or sadness trying to creep inside him as Gerard breaks from his throat and licks up to his ear whispering, “Can you fuck me? Please? Do you want to fuck me? Tell me you do. You're so much better than my fingers…”

Frank inhales sharply, shivers coursing through his body at the sensation and Gerard's words. He wants to, more than anything, to feel the younger man wrapped around him, hot, tight and desperate. He cannot help the moan slipping from his swollen lips as Gerard kisses his way down his torso, gently biting at his nipples and trailing his hands down. A small part of Frank wants to stop, to bring him back up again but the way his mouth feels so wet and insistent is too much to fight. It is too good; too perfect after the months of solitude. Squeezing his eyes shut he lets the sensations overtake him, the way Gerard's hair sweeps down over his hip and his scorching mouth follows, hands searching with calloused fingertips, the softness and smell of the covers beneath him. It is messy and dirty. He tries not to remember how he probably still has dried come smeared on his stomach as Gerard's mouth sweeps over the places where his birds are tattooed. He knows he should stop him, that they shouldn't be doing this when the younger man is inebriated. But selfishly, he lets him continue, teeth sinking into his bottom lip and crying out loud when Gerard finally wraps his lips around the tip of his half-hard cock. Writhing, his hands twist in the covers as his mind whites out.

Eventually he is able to open his eyes, moaning loudly at the sight of Gerard – cheeks hollowed, lips red and shiny with spit as his eyes hungrily stare back for confirmation. It is easily better than porn, he thinks as his head smacks back into the mattress.

“Gee… Fuck… You feel so good; wanna fuck you so bad…” he rambles as he feels himself being swallowed down again. After a few furious heartbeats Gerard pulls off, his hand replacing his mouth and jerking Frank off slightly erratically.

“You can, Frankie, you can have me,” his voice sounds wrecked with desperation and from having Frank's cock down his throat. He crawls up awkwardly before Frank grabs him, hauling him the rest of the way up the bed and promptly straddling him, their mouths meeting in a messy exchange of teeth and lips. He cannot help but grind down, seeking friction against the younger man's straining pajamas, feeling as the hips beneath his rock up, spreading and grinding back. It does not take very long for the rest of their clothing to be discarded, adding to the mess on the floor and bed as their bodies search for more contact, more heat.

“Need you… Need you so much. Please, please,” Gerard begs as Frank's licks and sucks at his neck, tasting the salt of sweat and unwashed clothes on him. The desperation is obvious and shocks him back a little.

“Wish you were sober…” he whispers against his tainted flesh, now covered in developing red marks from his teeth and mouth. He feels the body underneath him still slightly, wincing in his grasp.

“Please…” Gerard starts, his voice raw and thick, begging shamelessly. “I'm yours, Frank. Take me please… Need…”

Frank looks up and brushes the tangle of dark hair from the younger man's face. He tries not to notice how his eyes have reddened and seem on the brink of tearing completely. It makes his stomach twist painfully. He doesn't know how to help him, what to give him that will help. Deep down he knows that it is probably just whatever he has taken that has made him this way. He tries to ignore the sinking feeling that he just does not know the man pinned under his slight body. He sucks in a breath and asks Gerard to do something for him. He knows his taking advantage of a vulnerable situation and knows how easily the younger man seems to cave when there is sex involved. He's done it before and knows that he can do it again. He needs him better. He needs him back. Back to how he was. Confident and weird, honest and giving.

“Anything,” Gerard finally grits out in desperation as Frank licks over his collarbones. Frank makes him promise and tries not to feel guilty. Knowing this is the only way he can think of to help him. “Try anything for you.”

He swallows the guilt at knowing that he would. Gerard _would_ try anything for him. He feels like the worst person alive and tries not to let his hands falter on Gerard's smooth, pale skin. “No pills tonight,” he says, knowing that asking him not to drink is down right impossible. It’s obvious he is addicted and naïvely Frank supposes it is just to the booze. Gerard swallows hard, turning his face away, covering it with his hands and sliding his legs closed. “Just one night,” Frank lies, letting his fingers talk for him in trying to provide comfort and reassurance. He can feel Gerard shake under him as he climbs off. The younger man shakily tells him that he is afraid. “I'll be there okay? Right beside you. It's just one night. If the nightmares come back then you can take them and I'll stop hassling you. Just try. In return I'll let you do whatever you want to me, ask whatever you want of me,” Frank tells him, despite his intentions being far from what he has just said. There is no way in hell he is going to let this continue. It's not fair. He cannot watch and sit by passively as something destroys the best and only thing in his life.

Gerard remains silent for a few moments, then very slowly nods, wiping his nose and sniffing loudly as he rolls back over to face Frank. They curl into each other, seeking warmth and comfort as their hands slowly trace over each other bodies. No more words pass between them and eventually their mouths are put to other uses trading small kisses, devoid of anything more passionate then quick pecks and presses. But after a few more minutes their caresses become frantic once more, hips grinding together slightly at the growing feeling between them.

Frank kicks slightly at the tangle of sheets and blankets beneath him in the aftermath, staring at the developing bruises and hickeys on Gerard's pale, delicate skin. He is overcome with the desire to press his lips to every one of them. Every mark and slight swell of skin, every location that proclaims that he was there. That he is there.

Their breathing is still erratic in the afternoon glare, their hands still moving on clammy damp skin. He feels empty, spent and slightly worried. Gerard's contented smile does little to reassure him that things will be okay. He wants to ask him to promise him again but doesn't know he can handle what will happen. He wants to be strong for the both of them, to get them through this. But something inside him is nagging that he can't be superhuman. That he can't really fix what has happened. Frank tries to stay awake, running his hands through Gerard's unwashed, stringy hair to make sure he remembers, but slowly their breathing slows and sleep claims them regardless of their tangled limbs and best intentions.

*

Frank is woken by Gerard flailing about, making distraught sounds and gasping his brother’s name over and over again. He blinks for a few seconds before quickly wrapping his arms around him, pressing them closer together.

“Hey, it's okay, Gee. Mikey's fine. Wake up, come on. It's just a nightmare,” he tells him loudly, pinning his arms down. Gerard wakes suddenly in a rush of cold sweat and a half-choked cry. Sobs tear their way out as he twists in Frank's grasp, burying his face against his bare chest. Frank rubs small circles on his back, whispering that it is okay, that is was just a bad dream. He repeats this for a long time until the younger man has calmed enough and asks him to get him a drink. Frank knows he probably means booze but climbs out sleepily from their nest of blankets regardless, tugging on the discarded pair of sweats and heads upstairs. He drowsily fills a glass and is heading back when he bumps into Gerard, clad in his pajamas again on his way down the hall to Mikey's room.

Frank follows him wordlessly and tries not to notice the way the younger man is stumbling over his own feet and leaning on the wall occasionally.

Gerard knocks and whispers his brother’s name before entering the dark bedroom. Frank hangs back, shifting his weight awkwardly as he listens to their conversation. He feels kind of weird about it and is not sure how Mikey is going to take the news that he is back. He's pretty sure he is going to get at least a punch in the gut. The younger Way brother has always been protective. After a minute or two he shuffles closer, reluctantly and trying to stifle a yawn.

“Hey man…” he says quietly and is just able to make out the outline of Mikey sitting up in bed with Gerard sitting beside him, protectively close.

“Frankie? You're… where the fuck have you been? I haven't seen you since… shit, I don't even know.”

“Gee says about a year and a half, I, uh, couldn't get back, sorry,” he attempts to apologize and shrugs.

“Yeah,” Mikey agrees, flicking a look to Gerard and petting his shoulder. “Are you here long?”

“A week or more probably,” he replies cautiously. It is obvious that he is not welcome here. Mikey nods and address his brother with another gentle pat.

“Gee? Come on, man, Frank's here. And I'm fine. Do you wanna sleep in here again?”

Gerard shakes his head and hugs Mikey, slurring to telling him that he just needed to make sure he’s okay. Frank quickly leaves the room, confused at the emotions choking him. He feels like he has invaded and razed everything to the ground, salting it in the process. He hears them say goodnight to each other and waits for Gerard to emerge.

When he does, Frank quickly thrusts the glass of water into his hands. Gerard looks it for a second, puzzled. “I have water in my room,” he states.

“No, you have booze in your room,” Frank finds himself correcting before commanding him to drink. The younger man looks sort of caught out and eyes the water skeptically before taking a small sip.

“Don't want it,” Gerard replies almost harshly before thrusting the glass back into Frank's hands, slopping water onto the carpet, and heads back down to the basement.

With a sigh, Frank empties the glass and follows him. He knows there is no point right now in asking him if he wants food, even though he himself is starving. He heads back downstairs and catches the younger man raising the same water bottle to his lips. Anger quickly boils inside Frank as he snatches it off him, trying in vain to look for a place to dump it. “You're still drunk, you don't need more.”

Gerard tries to grab it back and is successful only in falling onto his bed. “Fuck you,” he says, lacing each word with as much malice he can find as Frank tips the bottle out of the window. He tries to tell himself that it is just the narcotics talking as he throws the whole bottle out of the window, willing himself not to react, or get mad or upset. He shrugs and gets down off the bed, kicking at the random articles of clothing and books that clutter the floor.

He can feel Gerard's glare on him, trying to stare him down.

“Why are you doing this to me? You said you wanted to help. You promised you would,” the younger man challenges.

Frank tries his best not to raise to the baited trap but can't help mutter back “I _am_ , fucking hell. I'm back, I'm trying, what more do you want?”

“I want you to stop thinking you know everything! _This_ is what helps me, taking it away only makes things worse!” Gerard argues, his hands digging into the side of the mattress.

“Oh, yes,” Frank replies without pause. “The booze and the pills really fucking help, Gee. Tell me, did they make you push everyone away and drop out of school too?” he hates himself the minute the words are out of his mouth, but he can't take them back.

The expression on Gerard's face is more than he can handle. “No, the nightmares and the desperate need to die did that for me.”

“You wanted to… Fuck,” Frank crosses his arms and refuses to hear the words that have just been uttered. “That's the most selfish thing I've ever heard you say.” He can't accept this, not now. Not after everything he’s learned since he returned.

Gerard looks like he has just been punched in the face and after a few thick, choking breaths he stammers out “I… That's not what it was like… You weren't… I didn't…”

It isn't until Frank is sitting on the bed beside Gerard, his fingers resting on his knees that what the younger man has just said begins to sink in. He feels guiltier now than he did the entire time he tried to stay away, except for getting drunk at home and– he cuts that thought off before it's finished. He whispers an apology and means it. Means every last syllable.

Gerard flinches somewhat at his touch, the effort taken to try and relax into the embrace is etched into his face. It’s almost like he’s in pain, like icing a wound. The younger man mutters something about “scared the shit out of Mikey,” but Frank knows better than to press for details, especially after the nightmares.

He lies them down in the nest of soiled blankets and makes a mental note not to fall asleep before turning the light off. This present is too much, he decides as he plants a kiss to Gerard's slightly clammy forehead, he doesn't know how much longer he can sustain. How much more he can find out before cracking under the pressure. For a few minutes, he closes his eyes and relishes in the silence that settles on them. He knows he deserves this and counts himself sort of lucky that he ended up here, facing punishment for his mistakes rather than experiencing them unknowing of what the fuck he had done. Guilt, he thinks, is the worst emotion to feel. But as he feels Gerard's warm body pressed against him, he cannot help but feel choked and overcome with it all. Not for the first time he finds himself wishing that he was anywhere else.

It feels like he was only asleep for five minutes when he is woken by Gerard shaking and pulling away from his grasp. He groans and forces himself to open his eyes and whisper words of encouragement. It does not take much before the younger man is curled back around him, too warm and too _there_. Gerard mumbles something about not wanting to sleep and lulls him into a slightly slurred conversation.

Still half asleep himself, Frank tells him that he has spent the last few months not sleeping inside, not showering and stealing shit because he thought that Gerard would never want him again. He feels Gerard stiffen slightly against him, almost as though he is resentful that it has been a lot longer for him than Frank. Frank apologizes again, his tongue tripping over the words as his body tries to drag him into sleep, as though he is caught in Lethe's current. “I'll prove it to you,” he murmurs through heavy eyelids. “I'll stick around and help you get through this.”

“I… I don't know if it's enough,” Gerard replies, his fingertips ghosting over the side of Frank's neck. He does not need the faint softness of the moonlight to see the pained expression on the younger man’s face.

Swallowing hard, he grabs Gerard’s hand, placing it instead on large tattoo on his forearm. “This is yours,” he whispers before moving to the ones on his hands. “And these too,” Gerard makes noises that suggest his is either unconvinced or surprised. To Frank's sleep addled brain, they sound almost the same. He brings the younger man's hand back up to his arm, letting his fingers sleepwalk against the lines of ink etched there. Against the memories. “For all the horror movies we watched together…” a smile tugs at his lips. “Cause my heart is yours,” he says with a small giggle, dragging the calloused digits down again. He can practically feel Gerard roll his eyes at him before his warm, breathy lips are pressed to it.

“Did I stab it?” Frank tries not to think about how off his tone is and just shrugs, telling him that he can do whatever he wants with it.

“Older you thinks it's a great joke,” he adds, “One day I woke up and you had drawn a pink blanket around it.” Sucking in another breath he explains that he is under express permission not to get anymore of the ones drawn for him by an older Gerard. The man currently curled around him tells him that he should wait to find out what they mean first. Frank groans. “That's totally the reason you gave too,” he relays and cannot help but dig his fingers slightly into the younger man's ribs.

“I hope we make it…” Gerard says softly, wriggling away from the annoyance. “But you married someone else, Frankie. That doesn't go away easily…” Frank quickly protests but Gerard silences him with a press of his fingers to his lips. “There was a time when you were with us both though. Don't deny it 'cause I know it's a lie.”

“Gee…”

“I know, I just don't know if I can live with that. I want to believe you, that you've left her, but…”

“I don't know if she's even alive right now,” Frank blurts out. It's the truth and one he has been avoiding for _years_.

The thought makes him feel sick and embarrassed, but it is Gerard's tone which shocks him more when he bites back. “How can you not know?! She was, or, whatever, your wife, but you never…? She lived in town and you never looked her up?” He tries to tell him that it didn't matter, that it wasn't like he was going to choose spending time with her over time with him, but Gerard has his eyes closed and breaths “She is.”

“She's what? Alive?” Frank falters.

“Still lives in town…” Gerard say softly as Frank swears. “Jamia Iero isn't exactly a common name.”

“She kept my last name?” He is unsure why the thought horrifies him so much. He had always just assumed that she would move on, marry someone else and change her name, the way that she had quickly taken his despite her parent's pleas not to.

Gerard doesn't answer him, instead he gives a small shrug and says, “You know, it's weird knowing something about your life that you don't…” Frank tries to tell himself that the younger man is not being malicious but cannot help but pull away slightly, as if the words had physically stung him. He tries desperately not to think about Jamia, how she's alive and probably still living within three bus rides’ distance, probably still in the house he bought for them. His stomach twists emptily and he finds himself wanting to get drunk, or high, anything to stop the onslaught of emotions.

The conversations passing between them remain on edge, not bringing relief or sleep to either of them. Eventually morning creeps in; softly filling the room with scattered planes of light and Frank is able to manhandle them both into the shower.

“Don't see the point of smelling good if no one's gonna smell you,” Gerard protests as the bathroom door is closed behind them.

“I smell you! As does the rest of your household.”

The younger man shakes his head as Frank turns the shower on and immediately discards the soiled clothing. “You weren’t here and they don't really see me. Mikey does sometimes, not as much as he used to though.”

“That's cause you smell like balls and rotten gym socks,” Frank retorts, hands quickly stripping Gerard of his pajamas and shoving him into the shower.

“No, it's cause I scared the shit out of him, he thinks I'll do it again if he tries to get close again.”

Frank pauses in his attempt to shampoo both his and Gerard's hair at the same time and questions what the younger man meant by what he just said.

“Scared him,” Gerard replies vaguely, ducking his head under the water, scrunching his eyes shut.

Frank's hands quickly concern themselves once more with touching him. He can't help but laugh a little. “Really? You're scary?”

Gerard shakes his head and steps back a little, muttering that it doesn't matter, but Frank cannot let this go. The strange combination of hot water, steam and the lack of sleep is making him giddy to the point of wooziness and hysteria.

“No, no, no, no,” he begs. “You have to tell me how you managed to scare MikeyfuckinWay!”

For his efforts he receives a wet pat on the cheek and a promise of “Maybe another time.”

“No! I have to know your brother's weakness!” Frank cries and prods him, digging his fingers into Gerard's sensitive ribs.

“I don't wanna talk about it.”

“You don't wanna talk about anything,” Frank grumpily replies, spiting a mouthful of water at him. “You just wanna get drunk and ignore everything.” He knows his actions are childish but he could not be further from caring at the moment. He watches as Gerard shrugs and makes a move to get out of the shower, explaining that he doesn't have anything nice to talk about. Frank knows this is true but cannot fight the overwhelming urge to know everything that has happened, what has caused his lover to be like this. He knows his search is in vain because when Gerard keeps things to himself he may as well forget about them.

The bed beckons them when they return back to the basement, despite the fact that they are now clean and the sheets really, _really_ aren't.

“So much better,” Frank expresses after loudly sniffing at Gerard. He cannot help the grin that spreads across his face as the younger man lets a small giggle slip from his lips. It fills him immediately with happiness at the sound.

“Sorry I kinda mauled you when you arrived…” Gerard mutters, his hands tracing over Frank's lines of ink where they spread down his arm.

Frank pauses and decides to throw the idea out in the open. It's far from what he wants, so far from it. But it's worth a try if it means he can stay. “Look, if you want this just as a casual hook up, then I guess that's fine, I mean, I'm kinda inconvenient.”

“What? No!” Gerard cries, sitting up slightly and looking at him fearfully. “Frank! Shut the fuck up! I love you, okay? Get that into your head. I just don't know if it's enough for me to trust you–”

“But what if it's not? What if you can't trust me anymore?”

Gerard shrugs at the interruption and tells him that they will figure it out when it happens.

“But if you don't… if you can't… do I just leave?” Frank is confused. He knows it's too much to ask Gerard to trust him after the months of absence and the years of lies. But he needs some clearance, some assurance. A definite answer. Just something.

“No… No, I don't think I'll _ever_ make you leave. I guess I'd try to… I don't know okay? I really don't. Can we just go back to the kissing part? I like that part.”

Frank stutters back a little but eventually gives in and presses his lips to Gerard's, putting everything he can into it, all his worries and dreads, all his hopes and wishes. He tries to ignore all the emotions surging through him, focusing instead on the warm slide of the younger man's mouth against his. He loses himself in the heated moment as their bodies slide against each other. Eventually they break to regain their breaths and senses.

“Oh man, can you imagine if I had kids I never knew about?” Frank knows this is a huge mistake even as the words are leaving his mouth, watching, horrified at himself, as Gerard suddenly backs away, breaking all contact.

“Why would you even say that?”

“Fuck… I don't know…” Frank replies honestly.

Gerard gets out of the bed, his hands balling into fists. “I'm trying not be angry here, I really am, but you're making it damn hard, okay. I spent the last year and a half wishing you'd come back. I tried everything. I even fucking _prayed_ a few times! I didn't think you were ever coming back. My mind got more and more out of control cause there was _nothing_ I could do. I didn't want to live anymore! I scared the shit out of my brother, my best friend, because of it all and I’ve been trying to cope ever since! Now you're back and laughing about having kids with someone else?! What the fuck am I meant to say to that?!”

Frank tries to apologize but the words get caught in his throat. Eventually they get out, distorted and, to his disgust, almost sounding mocking. “Gee, I'm sorry. I say stupid shit sometimes.”

“You're sorry?” Gerard asks flatly before words start tumbling from his angry lips again. “You walk back in, break down all my defenses, take away everything that's letting me act like something close to a normal person and then you make jokes about the woman you're married to and you _say stupid shit sometimes_? Shit, Frank, I love you and that's why I'm trying. That's why I went through hell last night and why I didn't drink this morning. Can't you stop acting like this is a big joke? Or like you're the victim? Cause it's really not a turn on when I've got my hand on your dick and you're thinking of someone else.”

Frank does not meet his gaze or his accusations, as he knows already that he is correct.

“Look at me,” Gerard commands in a tone Frank isn’t sure he’s heard before.

Frank obeys and bites his lip. He knows nothing he can say here will make anything better. Gerard doesn't need to say it but his expression softens enough for Frank to see that he loves him. To see that right now loving Frank hurts more than anything he has ever felt. “Gee?” he croaks out. “I'm sorry.”

Gerard just nods, grabbing a packet of cigarettes and heading back up the stairs as though he cannot stand to be in the same room as him. Frank follows a second later, unable to stay behind.

What Frank is not expecting in his numbed state is Mikey's fist to make contact with his jaw. He tumbles back, shocked at the impact and spreading pain.

“The fuck?!” he yells, raising his hand to gently press at the side of his jaw.

He’s got his eyes trained on the younger Way as Gerard cries “Mikey! No!” and steps between them.

“You punched me!” Frank cries again, unable to quite believe it as the pain sinks in a little further.

“Damn right I fucking did,” Mikey replies, peering around his brother to glare at him as Frank demands to know what for. He can guess of course and is not proven too wrong by Mikey's quick reply, “What do you fucking think?! You broke my brother! He's _my_ family, not yours, he's my best friend and you broke him!”

Gerard flinches and mutters, “I'm right here…”

Mikey flashes his brother a look. “Can you turn on the coffee machine?” he asks. Gerard seems to briefly consider before nodding and stepping towards the kitchen and out of the fight zone.

“Don't hit him again,” he adds as a parting comment. Mikey flexes his fingers regardless and continues to glare at Frank.

“You hit me again and I'll fucking smack you back…” Frank warns him, even though he knows he deserved that one along more than he can possibly count. He knows he wouldn't enjoy hitting Mikey and is mildly put off by how much taller the younger Way brother had gotten.

“Why are you back?” Mikey demands simply, his eyes narrowed behind his glasses. “Have you not seen what you've done to him?”

“Of course I fucking have,” Frank bites back, “I've spent the last two days trying to deal with it.”

Sarcasm coats Mikey's words when come out clear as day. “Two _days_ , how fucking terrible for you. Try not being able to get through to him for nearly two years.” His tone, however, is suddenly tinged with worry and regret.

“I'm sorry, okay?! I couldn't get back. Besides, it's not like he wanted me then.” Mikey shakes his head in disbelief, swearing and telling Frank that he is all Gerard wanted. “He told me to _leave_! What the fuck was I meant to do with that?” Frank harshly whispers back. He knows that Gerard is most definitely listening in and doesn't want him to hear what is being exchange. Doesn't want him to hurt more than he already is.

Mikey pushes his glasses up, a small wince showing on his face as his knuckles crack slightly under the motion. “You're supposed to stay in the spare room for a week! Let him come to you! Like what normal people do when they have fights, you two aren't the first to have problems in your relationship you know,” Mikey lowers his voice before continuing. “You're supposed to leave her and keep my brother. Do you have any idea how lucky you are to have him?”

Frank bites his tongue so he doesn't scream out that he has left her and instead asks if they can talk about this later.

“Like when? When exactly would you like to talk about how I don't think you deserve my brother anymore?”

“Look,” Frank says pointedly, admitting his weaknesses. “I know I don't deserve him okay? I've known that from the minute I met him, but he seems to want me here, I'm not going to hurt him anymore by leaving… and seriously? The spare room? You know I'm never conveniently around long enough to do that.”

“The spare room for one day would've been better than this.” Frank watches as Mikey physically deflates in front of him, all his bravado gone in a heartbeat. He doesn't know whether to reach out to tug him into a hug or let him punch him again. “I hope you can help him more than I can. And, uh, welcome home. I missed you.”

Mikey awkwardly closes the distance between him and wraps his arms around him. Frank cannot help but finch slightly in the embrace but quickly hugs back. “Missed you too, Gee's not telling me much so it would be great if you could fill me in later.”

Mikey nods and pulls back, wordlessly agreeing to _later_ and goes to retrieve coffee.

It turns out that _later_ with the younger Way brother actually means the time it takes Frank to coax Gerard onto the sofa in the living room with his breakfast and assure him that Frank is fine and quite honestly deserved it. Not even two hours after Mikey's fist had smashed into his jaw, Frank follows him back into his room.

“Were you serious about not punching me again?” he asks, sitting down on Mikey's bed and leaning against the wall. He is kind of wary after their last encounter and would prefer not to repeat it.

“Yeah, ah, sorry about that. Well… no, not really, but you know what I mean,” Mikey replies with a shrug, pushing his glasses back up his thin nose.

Frank totally gets what he means and knows that if he were in Mikey's position he would've done a lot worse. He nods quickly and lets the words tumble out of his mouth. “I don't know what to do, Mikey. I don't get it, have you seen how much he's drinking? And the fucking pills? I'm scared, so fucking scared and he's acting like it's normal and all fine and it's not and…”

“I've tried,” Mikey replies with a resigned sigh that reeks of late night and worry. “I honestly have, but I only seem to make it worse. It's my fault he got this bad too. I let him cause I just thought about how he was before; so much worse, but now I'm not so sure. I should've done something sooner.”

Frank pats him kind of awkwardly and tells him that it isn't his fault. “I'm the one who fucked him over and then didn't turn up for eighteen months,” he states honestly. “But I think he's on something else. When I got here he was all crazy and his pupils were fucking massive. I don't think it's just Xanex and booze. I've asked but he keeps denying.”

“I can't even fucking tell any more, you know? He's been up and down more times a day over the past year than a fucking rollercoaster. He won't talk to me anymore and I barely even see him. He's always unconscious or out with Bert getting wasted,” Mikey admits with a shake of his head. They sit in mutual silence for a while. It's almost comfortable, Frank decides, rubbing the palms of his hands over the rough material of a pair of jeans that most likely belonged to Mikey some point or other. He wishes it were under different circumstances, perhaps playing video games or watching some horrifically gory movie, eating bowlfuls of dry cereal like they have done previously.

“Have you got any weed?” he asks after a few minutes. Kind of inappropriate timing, but whatever.

Mikey shakes his head. “Nah, Pete smoked the last of it on Friday. Would've saved you some but… you know.”

Of course Frank knows, it's not like he can easily forget the fact that he has not and will be able to make up for the almost two years he was away. “Life is like a box of Franks,” he jokes badly. “You never know what you're gonna get. Or when?”

Mikey groans a little and rolls his eyes as Frank sniggers quietly to himself, trying to dispel the oppressive air.

“So, ah, You're married then?” Mikey finally asks, cautious but pointed. “And not to Gerard. You know what, I'd kind of been looking forward to calling you my brother but…” Mikey trails off and shrugs. “What the fuck, man?”

Frank cringes. He knows he has to explain, that he owes it to him, to both of them really. But it is hard to admit that he fucked up; hard to admit that he was beyond selfish. “It was before I started seeing you guys,” he says softly, hoping to be able to leave it at that, but Mikey’s eyebrows clearly say _please elaborate_.

Frank draws in a breath and tucks his hands between his knees. “I started 'traveling when I was like fifteen or something, anyway, it was always Jamia and random places I got pulled to. I thought it was gonna be a forever thing, you know? Like something out of bad romance movie, fate or whatever,” he shrugs and gets to the point. “Then one day, a few months after we got married in a registers office, I got pulled to a random place I'd never been before to some random guy – your brother – who scoops me up off the floor and sticks his tongue in my mouth before noticing I don’t know who the hell he is and sitting me down with a bowl of fucking Frankenberry and tells me that me and him are a couple. So I freak the hell out, cause Hi! Completely straight at this point!”

Frank gives a small wave as Mikey raises his eyebrows suggesting that he never believed that he was ever straight. Frank tries to ignore it, figuring it’s a look that comes with the territory of dating Mikey’s brother.

“So then, the next time I see him, he hands me this fucking letter from myself, but like an older me, saying that I'd better get used to it all cause I don't get to have my wife anymore, but that it will be okay, cause Gee is be the best thing to ever happened to me.”

“Wow,” Mikey says after a beat. “What a mindfuck.”

“Totally,” Frank agrees, shaking his head and remembering the stupidly small details of that afternoon in the New Jersey house.

“So how come you didn't leave her when you got with Gee for real?” Mikey questions, turning his gaze on Frank who shrinks slightly under the not-so-hidden accusations.

“It's not like I see her often, most of the time it's when she is older and knows about Gerard. I just sleep in the spare room. It's just easier, she's still my friend and it's not like I'm gonna see her for much longer anyway.”

“ _Most_ of the time? What about the other times? Dude, I'm okay with you hanging out with her, it's cool, I get that you need a place to stay and you still get pulled to her or whatever. Fine. What I don't like is the reasons my brain is coming up with for why you have your wedding date recently tattooed on your neck.”

Frank knows this will take some explaining and leans against the wall for support. “The last time I saw her,” he breathes. “She was really young still, young enough to think that we still had a future together. I couldn't tell her, not then, that I was with someone else. She finds out in a few months from a younger me anyway. I couldn't bring myself to relive that shit. So, I had seen a photo in Gee's studio of me around this age with it. I recognized the dates on it and what they meant. It was a dumb, spur of the moment action. I thought that I might as well go along with it, seeing as how it had already happened. I really didn't mean anything by getting it. It's like a self-fulfilling prophecy y'know? I hate that this is what started it all though. That there couldn't have been a better way for Gerard to find out or whatever.” His voice is wrecked by the end of it but he is glad that Mikey at least lets him finish, lets him get it out, and for some unknown reason it doesn't sound as bad as what he thought it would.

“I hate that you're making sense,” Mikey replies before adding, “I should kick your ass.”

Frank pauses and waits. Eventually it gets too much and he finds himself begging to know what he should do. Mikey always has the answers, it’s usually just a matter of getting him to give them to you, except this time he merely shrugs, almost defeated and says, “You'll just have to wait sorry. It takes him a while with these things. But shit, if you don't make yourself worth his time, I will more than punch you. He's weird, my brother, but he's special.”

“Oh I know,” Frank replies. “Why isn't he hearing this conversation?”

Mikey looks at him as though the answer of _cause he'd bitch you out after thirty seconds_ should be more than an obvious one.

Frank draws in a breath, knowing of course, that Mikey is right. “How the hell do I make myself worth his time? It's not like I can really do much except be there for him… somehow that doesn't feel like it's enough anymore.”

Mikey gives a rare smile, one that is sort of hopeful yet bitter. “That's all you need, Frankie. That's all he needs right now. He's not just gonna quit overnight, but maybe if you stick around and give him a chance…”

Mikey doesn't need to finish the sentence as Frank nods and steals out of his room with an almost optimistic tone. “Well, in that case, I'm gonna go harass him some more. Thanks, uh, for listening and shit, giving me a chance to explain.”

Before he turns the corner completely, he sees Mikey roll his eyes but with the smallest of smiles.


	6. Division VI

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “I was fucked up, Frankie, real fucked up. I… nothing made sense anymore,” he tries to explain before apologizing again and again. Frank immediately tells him that it is not good enough as he glares at him. Gerard cringes admitting “I don't know what to say. I don't know what I was thinking – I wasn't!”

The rest of the week Frank spends at the Way house is one of the worst he feels that he has ever had to endure. He had not counted on Gerard being so unreceptive and down right in denial about his drinking. The fights between them had been horrific and almost unbearable. He learnt after the third day that he could not leave Gerard alone for more than a minute, as the younger man would find booze or something. That night Frank empties his room of alcohol as Gerard twitches in his uneasy sleep. The next morning is predictably bad once the younger man works out what has happened as he slept, but the afternoon is worse. Frank begins to feel weak, torn down at the constant back and forth between aggression, depression and numbness – and that is just from Gerard.

Frank finds himself knocking on Mikey's door early Thursday morning. He is exhausted and feels a tightness in his throat that is most likely the precursor of another flu. Mikey's tired voice beckons him in after a few seconds.

“Hey, you got a moment?” Frank asks, gently pushing the door open and entering the room.

“Frank? It's early… what's going on? Is Gerard okay?” Mikey replies, half sitting up and squinting at him, his voice tinged with concern.

“I brought coffee,” Frank thrusts the mug forward, not trusting himself to speak on his irrational fears just yet. “Gee's finally sleeping.”

“So why aren't you? Even I managed a couple of hours.”

“Couldn't,” Frank says, sinking onto the bed and clearing his throat, which is protesting cruelly against the forced whispers. “He, ugh, had a rough night, but I'm sure you heard, yeah?” The whole neighborhood probably did, he thinks sadly, remembering how even Donna stayed away.

Mikey gives a small nod, taking a mouthful of the hot coffee and reaching for his glasses. He tells Frank that he needs to sleep at some point because he is not going to be of any use if he is passing out everywhere.

“Hey, I gotta ask,” Frank starts, after agreeing and finally growing a set of balls. He knows he probably won't get the answers he wants or needs but he needs to try regardless. “Gerard said he scared you, I figured it must've been pretty bad. I just need to know what he meant and if there’s a chance he would do it again? He's just so withdrawn right now and I'm fucking scared.”

Mikey's expression and the way he swallows, lowering the coffee mug is all the confirmation he needs that this is not good. “He wouldn't… he said he wouldn't. He said he'd stop…” Mikey looks up at him, slowly forming the last few words, which makes him sound so much like his brother. “I want to believe him. He's my brother,” he finishes lamely, as though he is only now aware how much Gerard has been lying to the both of them.

“Mikey, dude, just tell me. I know he's already asked you to buy him more booze already.”

“I can't, I promised. I promised I wouldn't tell.”

Frank knows this is almost as pointless as smashing his head against a wall. Years of trying to get things out of the younger Way brother has lead to headaches and a very passive aggressive strategy. “But I need to know to help me get him better. I just… I need to make sure he's okay before I go again. I owe him that much.”

“Don't go! I mean, I know you can't help it but… I need you here. He needs you. I can't fix him myself.”

“I fucking know that!” Frank suddenly yells, snapping under the pressure of not enough sleep and the constant attack and defense dance he has been playing since he arrived. “Shit, sorry,” he apologizes, rubbing his eyes aggressively. “I'm just so fucking tired…”

“You should sleep. Now, while he is. I'm sorry I can't help you more.”

“That bad huh?”

Mikey looks at him, setting the now empty mug to one side. “Did he tell you that the last time I went down there to see him, he took a swing at me? He won't _let_ me help him.”

Frank does not recalling Gerard ever mentioning it. Of course he wouldn't. Somehow, though, it does not surprise. Frank figures there may be a connection to how Gerard scared his younger brother. That maybe his fears of something worse were ungrounded despite the uneasy feeling inside of him.

“Look, if you don't wanna tell me, it's okay. I just thought if I knew I could help more. He's really guarded about the last year.”

“I promised him,” Mikey replies with a shrug of his shoulders. Frank would love to tell him how much he admires his unwavering loyalty to his alcoholic, messed up brother but the moment isn't right, not when he is pushing the very limits of that loyalty and dedication. “Let's be honest here, you're probably not going to take it very well. What if it makes things worse? What if I tell you and any last bit of trust he has in me gets ripped away? And if you flip out at him, what's he gonna have left?” Mikey continues.

Frank offers that they can play twenty questions with a weak smile. The younger brother shakes his head and asks what Gerard has told him already.

“He told me Bert used to get him out, that it was just booze and Xanex, not that he'd admit it, but I swore when I came back here he was on something…”

Mikey is silent for a moment and looks down at his weird almost grey bedspread, picking at the edges of it. “I found him in his bed,” he says quietly. “Thought he was asleep so I went to pull his blankets up over him. That’s when I saw his mirror laid flat on the desk and he was barely breathing.”

“What was it?” Frank prompts, feeling sick with the knowledge he probably already knows.

“Coke,” Mikey says simply, not meeting his eyes as Frank swears. “He did it on purpose. He wanted to die, asked me why I called the ambulance.”

Frank lets fly a string of curses, his head aching with pressure. “On purpose…” he repeats as the nausea rises inside of him. Fuck. It takes a while before he can bring himself to open his mouth without throwing up or destroying everything in the house. “How… how do you know he stopped?” he questions, hands white knuckled as they grip the mattress underneath him.

“I don't” Mikey tells him honestly, “He said he wouldn't do it again, but…”

“He's said a lot of things,” Frank supplies remorsefully before bitterly stating that Gerard was high when he came back. All the evidence was always right there in front of him. It was always something more than just booze.

“What do we do?” Mikey whispers, earnestly searching for any answer that would solve the pain and help to heal all of them.

“I don't think he has any at the moment, else he would've taken it, but I don't trust him not to go out and get more,” Frank states, knowing he sounds paranoid as hell. He takes his leave after promising the younger brother that he won't bring it up unless Gerard makes a move to get more, and that he's going to go and attempt to sleep.

He gets five steps inside the basement and cannot make himself go any further; he cannot face him. Cannot face what has happened, the lying, the hiding. Frank retreats back up stairs and falls asleep on the couch with his shaking arms and knees curled in and dry coughs racking his body.

*

Frank somehow manages to sleep for a solid eleven hours and is only woken by the sound of the door closing. He jolts awake, immediately feeling the stiffness in his limbs and dry throat. His eyes flick toward the direction of the front door and he is taken aback by Mikey coming in with an intense expression on his face.

“Hey,” Franks says croakily, sitting up and wincing at the way his bones pop and settle into a new position.

“Is Gerard downstairs?” Mikey asks suddenly, dropping his bag down on the floor and pausing. Frank shrugs, trying to clear his head from the persistent dreams. Mikey swears loudly and quickly ducks down the hall in the direction of the basement. He returns just as Frank lets loose another hacking cough. “He's gone.”

Frank stares at him in disbelief, blinking a few times against the harsh afternoon night pouring into the lounge room. His expression must betray enough confusion as the younger brother clarifies that Gerard's car is gone. Panic sweeps through him. Gerard had threatened to go during more than a few of their fights but Frank had not taken the threats to heart, thinking that the he was too dependent on him, desperately searching most of the time for constant confirmation that Frank will stay. Now he’s gone and Frank feels afraid and more than a little lost.

Mikey collapses on the couch next to him, shifting the blankets and hands him a can of coke. “He'll be back.”

But Frank can hear the uncertainty in his words and is struck by the realization that they are in this situation because he slept on the couch – because he wasn't there when Gerard needed him. He wants to run or scream or something or _anything_. After a few minutes of staring blankly at the TV, which Mikey has turned on, he allows himself to settle into an uneasy position of waiting. He can't go after him, fuck, he wouldn't even know where to start looking. He figures Mikey doesn't either otherwise he would've said something along the lines of _Come on, let's go rescue my half-wit brother from the world again,_ and dragged him out onto the cracked footpath outside their home. Instead they stare across the living room where the television is entertaining itself with re-runs of bad cartoons and the shadows are creeping in slowly over the yellow walls. They don't speak, almost comfortable in their unease of the situation. They do not need to voice their fears about Gerard drinking or scoring drugs as both of them know it will be only a matter of time before the sound of the eldest Way brother returning home and dropping his keys repeatedly on the steps outside makes it true. The wait stretches out and the stress continues to build in Frank, making him twitch and periodically get off the couch to pace around the living room. Mikey mumbles an excuse and goes to his room half way through a boring movie to get something when Frank hears the musical sounds of keys hitting the concrete stairs outside. At that moment the nausea, which has been increasing, along with the slight pins and needles feeling sharpens exponentially. He gasps a little, leaning against the kitchen bench for support. He can hear Gerard swearing and at last his key turning in the door. Frank tries to swallow against the insubstantial feelings claiming him, his hearing suddenly filled with a deafening sound, cutting off the words that tumble out of Gerard's slack lips. He is there long enough to see the younger man approach him, his movements uncoordinated and eyes huge before he is gone.

*

The concrete beneath him is cold and unforgiving as more coughs tear from his throat. He doesn't make much of an attempt to move at first; the traffic sounds far enough away to know that he won't be completely fucked if he hangs out for a few moments to catch his breath. He's out the back of a few slightly run down shops. The faded yellow newspapers tacked to the windows seem to whisper some sort of security. He draws in a shuddering breath and carefully sits back onto his knees, wincing slightly at the way the rough concrete digs into the skin there. It is still daylight and like a hundred million other times he has no idea where the hell he is or even when. The memory of what has just happened is fresh in his mind, screaming at him for his stupidity and ignorance. He feels defeated. Living under false assumptions never got him anywhere and he vows that when and if he gets back to that time with Gerard, he is going to fucking deck him. A small part of him whispers that his lover is an addict, and that's what addicts do. But it's not good enough. Not even close. Frank rises to his feet, trying to ignore his stiff, protesting muscles and active thoughts. The area he is in is obviously part of the commercial sector in whatever town or city he has ended up in, which translates to no clothes. He pads stiffly to the windows of the stores and peers into them hopefully. They are deserted and filled with dust.

Swearing, he sits down, leaning against the side of one of them, trying not the feel the way the peeling paint itches his bare skin. His stomach growls emptily as the sun tracks its way across the sky and for once the solitude does not seem half bad, except for the profound lack of clothes and much needed cigarettes. Frank allows his mind to wander and disappears just as a white sedan swings into the deserted parking lot.

*

The wooden floor beneath him is familiar. Already his lungs are refusing to work and his head feels like it is splitting in two. Frank cannot help but panic. What if everything was all changed? Are he and Gerard still even together? Before he can think much more a noise comes from the lounge room – someone getting off the couch and stumbling over their feet. Frank braces himself for the worst and is surprised to hear Gerard crying out enthusiastically, “Frankie? Hey, baby!” He smells like pizza and cigarettes as his hands wrap themselves around him, forcing him to his feet. “Hey, hey you okay?” Gerard asks concerned when his attempt at hugging is met by Frank's hands on his chest pushing him away.

“Fuck you, Gerard,” he chokes out, coughing hard and trying to stop the way his eyes water like the betrayers they are. Gerard blinks at him, clearly confused at the situation and asks what is going on and where Frank was. “Fucking _coke_?!” Frank spits out, not really listening. The anger and hurt inside him is too much right now. He needs release and not to be lied to again.

The older man pales noticeably, dark eyes widening as he whispers “Oh, fuck.”

“Yes, _oh, fuck_ is right. What the hell, man?”

Gerard looks pained and runs his hand through his shorter black hair before rubbing his face. He keeps his eyes opened and searching as he swears, “Fuck, I remember seeing you leave… I remember exactly…”

“You're an asshole,” Frank reiterates and shoves him again for good measure, intent on driving the point home further. However, he gets no satisfaction in seeing the older Gerard stumble backwards a little, bracing himself on the kitchen bench.

“I was fucked up, Frankie, real fucked up. I… nothing made sense anymore,” he tries to explain before apologizing again and again. Frank immediately tells him that it is not good enough as he glares at him. Gerard cringes admitting “I don't know what to say. I don't know what I was thinking – I wasn't!”

“Clearly!” Frank bites back. He is too swept up in getting answers, getting Gerard to admit that he was wrong that he doesn't see how _right_ they are, how nothing has changed despite the pain and suffering they have both experienced in each others presence and absence.

“But I do get clean, I'm clean now, have been for ages. Never gonna touch the stuff again. I know what I'll lose if I do,” Gerard tells him honestly. “I'm working a shitty nine to five job and I ring my parents every week–”

Frank cuts him off by harshly asking “How can I even fucking trust you? Mikey and I try to help but instead you sneak out of the house!”

“I… wait!” The older man fumbles for words, his eyes begging Frank to shut up, even just for a minute. “Okay, when you go back there… Behind my mirror, that's where I kept it. Or inside my pillow, I moved it at one point, I can't remember when. Check both. I had alcohol all over the basement. Every nook in the closet had some. At one point I had little bottles in my shoes. Just get rid of it all. Go tell the fucking liquor store guy around the corner not to serve me and unhook something in my car so I can't drive, the dealer… I always met him behind the fruit store four blocks down. You know the one.”

Frank nods slowly, taking in the information despite the anger clouding his mind. Gerard looks at him seriously, his hands gripping the bench for lack of something better to hold. “You can stop me, Frank. Tell Mikey, he'll help.”

Frank uncrosses and re-crosses his arms. It sounds good in theory, fuck, it sounds _great_ in theory but after the week he has just lived through he doesn't see it actually working. “I've tried taking it away from you and look at how well that's worked out,” he says bitterly, allowing the disappointment to taint and spoil his words. He watches as Gerard shakes his head, his dark hair falling into his face messily. Any other time Frank is positive his brain would be telling him _sex, sex, sex_ , especially at the way the older man's worn Iron Maiden t-shirt hugs him and urges his eyes downward. But he forces himself to concentrate. This is too important, too urgent to trivialize with just falling into bed like they have done on so many occasions.

“It doesn't matter. Don't listen to anything I say… And I said some horrible things, I'm so sorry. Frankie, I love you and I promise we can both get through this.”

Frank does not allow himself to get affected by the three common words that he has wanted to hear for so long. He can feel his anger slowly dissolving and being replaced by something else, something heavier and just as painful. “How is taking it off you again going to change anything?” he questions. “It hasn't so far.”

Gerard steps back from the bench supporting him and moves closer to Frank, his hands almost twitching like they need to touch, like they, too, need comfort and reassurance.

“Because,” he replies simply, “Now you know how to stop me getting more. I think, no, I'm pretty sure, that time I walked in and saw you leave was the last time I got high. The booze was much harder, mental dependency and all.”

Frank shakes his head and half whispers, “I don't know if I can go through all this again.” He feels so guilty and weak for admitting it. But for once it is the truth. Gerard's arms find their way around him, pulling their bodies together. He stutters in a breath and pushes him off gingerly. He can't be fooled into comfort just yet, especially as the older man is apologizing once more and asking him to _try_. He wants to bite back something along the lines of _Sorry would've been you stopping the first time_ or _Easier said than done, motherfucker_. Instead he sucks in a breath and tries to make sense of the chorus of emotions churning inside of him. “Will it… will it make a difference when I go back there? Will taking it all away from you actually work?”

Gerard nods and does not attempt to touch him again. “It does work. It really, really does… I uh, I didn't take to it well though so uh, just ignore everything that comes out of my mouth?”

“Do I go back there soon?” Frank demands, wishing he had the strength to cross the distance between them and weld them together once more. Gerard gives a small shrug and softly says he isn't sure how long it is for Frank, but he was never away for long when Gerard most needed him.

“Okay”

“…Okay?” Gerard echoes as Frank turns, heading towards the bedroom in the effort to find clothes. The room is surprisingly bare, with boxes still piled on top of each other. He does not waste time in trying to find his own clothes, instead he pulls on a worn pair of jeans and trying not the notice the way they slip down over his more narrow hips.

“Mirror, pillow, shoes, closet, liquor store, fruit shop, car. That's it,” Gerard's voice comes from behind him, near the doorway. He gives a sharp nod, tugging a shirt over his head. Usually he wouldn't bother, but he cannot bring himself to be naked again in his presence, cannot bring himself to be that vulnerable. “I'll remember,” he promises, turning to face him and tugging the jeans up slightly. “…Thanks?”

A ghost of a smile appears of Gerard's thin, bitten lips.

They rearrange themselves back in the kitchen, finishing off the last of a pizza as they exchange apologies and regrets, trying to make it each other understand. Eventually Frank allows himself to smile as a hot cup of coffee is pressed into his hands and he realizes that nothing has changed. They are okay. They will make it through. His mind keeps running over Gerard's words uttered barely a minute ago.

“We're human, Frank, we screw things up, and your situation is no where near as easy as I used to like to think it was. I don't care what you did. I care that you're with me now. I trust you.”

He places his mug down and practically leaps out of his chair, throwing his arms around Gerard's neck and tugging him close. It takes a split second before the older man's arms are encircling him, his lips pressing to his cheek.

“So fucking good to see you like this, you have no idea,” Frank tells him, muffled against his warmth. “I didn't know if you were going to be okay… if we were even going to survive this…”

Gerard pulls back slightly from the tight embrace, bring his hand up and gently trailing his long fingers down Frank's face. “Yeah we fucking make it,” he says, somewhat choked, “Of course we make it. We're Frank and Gerard. We can't not make it.”

Frank grins at him. It's stupid, but he doesn't care.

A yawn escapes him. “Tired?” Gerard asks before rolling his eyes and muttering, “Stupid question, come on.”

Frank allows himself to be dragged back into the bedroom. Their bedroom. They lay down, tugging the blankets over their feet and curling around each other. Frank closes his eyes his eyes and allows Gerard's touch to sweep over him and his voice try lulling him to sleep.

“Sleep is a waste of time,” he grumbles, but does not open his eyes. “Tell me about your shitty job.”

The older man laughs a little, pulling away only to turn the light off. “That'll make you fall asleep for sure,” he says with a small laugh, curling himself back in with a sigh. “I thought working for Cartoon Network would be the best thing ever, you know? It sounds so epic.”

“Mmm? It's not?”

“It's really not. It's a fucking cubicle job. I'm drawing but I don't have any say in what I'm drawing and then I have to watch them change their minds and throw all my work away and tell me to start again.”

Frank frowns and cracks one eye open. “Why don't you just quit?”

“Because no one out there needs someone to draw a whole lot of zombies for them,” Gerard tells him, almost sadly as his fingers gently trace down Frank’s throat.

“Sure there is,” Frank replies, trying to throw off the heavy weight of sleep. Something tells him that this is important and not something he should be napping through. He feels more than sees his lover’s raised eyebrows in question and amusement. “I mean” he clarifies, toying with the hem of his shirt. “What would happen if you said _fuck you_ to the man and did your own thing for a bit?” It seems like a logical answer, at least in his mind. He knows there is no way in hell, if he wasn't time traveling and had to hold down a job, he would be able to stay at a job he hated. Fuck the logistics, no regrets. He wishes his life were that simple.

“Like… just do my own art?” Gerard asks, confusion tugging at his words. “But who would buy it? My own stuff gets pretty weird.”

“Would it be better than sitting in a shitty cubicle all day?”

“Well, yeah, of course. But I can't live off that; besides paint and canvases cost a lot, too.”

Frank tugs his shirt off, his skin feeling too warm and prickly and asks him, “What if you could? What if money wasn't a problem?”

He only realizes how trivial this sounds when Gerard laughs and whispers back, “If only, baby,” patting him in a way that is slightly condescending.

Frank tells him that he is being serious and is rewarded with another laugh and a demand to see the money tree he has been clearly hiding. “It's in the bank,” he tells him with a grin. “This is money I legitimately earned.” Gerard squints his wide eyes in the dark and quickly presses his fingers into the gaps between Frank's ribs, causing him to squirm and twist and prod back. Gerard wriggles under his insistent fingers and brings up the fact that Frank doesn't have a job. When Frank mentions the stock market the older man laughs, as though the idea is completely absurd. It is only when he tells him, “There has to be some perks to be shoved into the future right?” that Gerard stills a little, trying to process the information.

“Wait, wait… Frankie, I'm not gonna live off your money, if that's what you meant before.”

It is then that Frank laughs, almost giddy with the knowledge that for once he can do something useful, and gets Gerard to switch on his laptop. He tries to tell him that it is not a big deal, which it isn't, but the older man doesn't want to listen.

“I can't do that. You earned it, not me. And I'm not a charity case, I manage fine,” Gerard says, his voice wavering slightly as he turns the small laptop on. It's different to what Frank has seen him use before and it still strikes him as odd that computers are so common place, so replaceable. Outdated so quickly. “I'm happy with you. I don't need you to spend money on me.”

Frank rolls his eyes a little and tells him to log into his banks secure network.

“Seriously?” Gerard asks, sniggering as he types in the password Frank gives him.

“The sixty-nine just refers to a good year that's all.”

“I'm sure.”

“Whatever,” Frank replies flippantly and tells him to click the main account listed. Gerard is still looking at him, grinning with laughter and mocking until his eyes refocus on the bright screen, words dying in his throat. He stutters out a few words and eventually asks in a slightly awed voice what exactly Frank had shares in again. Frank grins and rattles off a few companies who have made it big in the last five or so years, satisfied when the man he is currently pressed against blinks and stutters again, still unable to put a sentence together. He feels oddly proud of himself.

“This is…” Gerard breathes, his eyes darting from Frank's face and back to the illuminated screen a few times.

“Enough that you don't have to work a shitty job?”

“I can't take this! This is… Fuck, this is yours Frankie! You should use it, not me! Or like… set something up,” the older man cries out, abruptly turning the laptop off.

It takes a good half hour to convince him that the money is not really useful to him, that he’s donated to a number of causes and scholarships, and that Gerard can always go back to working if he really wants, that Frank is not doing this out of guilt – a small lie, but not one that Gerard picks up on. Curled around each other’s warmth and limbs, the older man finally relents a little as small yawns slip from Frank's mouth.

“Go to sleep,” Gerard commands, brushing the longer strands of hair from his lovers forehead before replacing them with a quick press of his lips.

“Chuck Norris doesn't sleep, he waits,” Frank mutters back, eyes closed but hands telling another story. There is no hesitation is his movements, no way to misinterpret the way they make their way down, brushing over Gerard's hip. “You gonna kiss me or what?”

Frank cracks one eye open to see a contemplating expression on Gerard’s face, as though he is mulling the options over in a fucking restaurant or something. With a sigh, he drags his hands back and flips over into the colder and decidedly empty side of the bed. Sleep does sound good, but his body is humming with need. He knows that Gerard is just messing with him; hell, it is not the first time and certainly won't be the last. He contemplates properly jerking off as he lazily strokes himself. It takes very little time before Gerard is pressed against his back, mouth hot and wet against his neck and shoulders. Frank grinds back a little, unable to help himself before turning over abruptly and straddling the older man, kissing him hard.

“Missed this,” he gasps into their mouths, which clash in a caress of tongues and swollen lips. He slides down a little to bite at the pale stretch of skin on Gerard's neck and moans loudly as their breathing becomes rushed and frantic. His brain whites out and all he can do is ride out the wave of pleasure building inside him as he grinds down, relishing the way their bodies slide together with almost too much friction.

“Frankie… hey, hey slow down… not going anywhere remember?” Gerard says breathlessly into his ear, causing him to shiver and fumble to discard their pants in a hurry.

“Nggghhh,” is all he can reply before the building sensation is too great and he comes hard, collapsing.

“You teenager! Where's your stamina?” Gerard asks with a laugh when Frank finally rolls off him, panting and trying not to be a little embarrassed.

“Fuck you,” he replies, but there is no venom in his words, only a desperate need to sleep and be encircled in the sheer normalcy of the situation. He feels the warm press of Gerard spooning against him, hips rocking gently, his own arousal obvious as his lips impart small mutterings of “Sleep, love,” and warm kisses. Frank drifts off into a slightly uneasy sleep as his mouth barely forms and whispers, “Love you.”

He wakes to the sound of a pencil scratching across paper and the lingering smell of coffee and cigarettes. His stomach grumbles a little as he murmurs incoherently into the pillow. He feels stupidly relieved and wishes that his bladder would share the same sentiment as he struggles out of the tangle of blankets and down the hall to relieve himself. His reflection glares back and it is only now that he realizes how tired and worn out he looks. Dark blue-purples haunt under his eyes, making him appear more tired than he is. He brings a hand up, gingerly scrapping along his stubble lined cheek and jaw. He isn't even really aware of what he is doing until Gerard's razor is in his hand and there is a small amount of shaving foam still clinging to his ears. He blinks a few times and rinses the blade again, tucking it back up on the vanity.

“You okay?” Gerard's voice calls out, echoing through the apartment.

“Yeah!” he yells back and cannot help the grin that threatens to split his face in two. He casts one last look back at himself in the mirror and hastily wipes the white foam from his ear before quickly returning to their bedroom.

“Feel better?” Gerard asks, glancing up from his sketchpad, slight amusement brightening his eyes.

“Oh, fuck yeah.”

Gerard gives a small huffed laugh and sets the drawing aside, flinging the heavy blankets aside. It is the first time Frank takes a good look around the room. There are piles of boxes still heaped up, Gerard's descriptions of their contents scrawled on the side and top of each: _Comics, Figurines, Paint stuff_ , and Frank's personal favorite _Fuck knows_ accompanied by a small drawing of a whole hoard of zombies that screams procrastination. He can just picture the older man surrounded by his… their possessions, trying to make sense of it all and fighting a losing battle with packing tape and permanent markers.

“Coffee? Breakfast?” Gerard asks, almost a little unsure as he detangles himself from their bed and stands, wincing at the cold wooden floorboards beneath his sleep-sensitive feet. Frank rolls his eyes and beats him to the kitchen. “You don't have to look after me now,” Frank hears from behind him as he pours out two bowls of cereal and two mugs of coffee. He huffs a small sigh but continues, ignoring the way Gerard has his arms crossed and watches him.

How can he tell him without sounding like he had no faith in them what so ever? He knows that the man beside him has already lived it and could help. But he cannot admit it to himself the truth, let alone to anyone else. He dreads the knowledge that he will have to endure the man he loves detoxing and fighting him every step of the way. It is enough to make him want to run from the responsibility. Almost. In some sort of sick way he knows he deserves this. That living, again and again, the pain of the alcohol and drug dependency eating into his lover, his best friend, his everything, are his own sick versions of a Hail Mary. “I, uh, okay,” Frank replies, handing Gerard a bowl of cereal. It is some form of pink sugery goodness that smell vaguely like fake strawberries and taints the milk. The box had proclaimed it to be Frankenberry, which should have made him crack rude jokes but instead he swallows hard against the surging emotions and downs his coffee, burning his tongue almost immediately.

Gerard thanks him and quickly eats, his gaze still lingering on him. “It's summer,” he states with a mouthful of food. “And it's a nice day. Thought we could go out somewhere, go to Central Park and share a pretzel or something. All that shit.”

Frank giggles a little and tries not to be caught up in how heartbreaking _good_ all of this feels that he almost forgets about the coke. Almost. “You're so romantic,” he replies and loads it with as much sarcasm he can summon this early in the morning.

“Oh blow me, anyway, Houdini hasn't been up there yet and I think Bela's been teasing him about it or some shit. Mom swears they are not speaking to each other.”

Frank looks at him slightly confused. Houdini? Bela? “Who?” he asks through another mouthful of cereal.

Gerard's eyes widen suddenly in surprise before a grin takes over. “Fuck, you're gonna loose your shit!” he triumphantly cries and abandons his bowl on the bench, cereal and milk sloshing dangerously around and dashes out of the room.

“He's been sleeping in the studio for some reason lately!” Gerard's eager voice echoes back. “I think he's trying to get high on paint fumes.”

“Gee… are you letting hobos crash in the apartment again?”

Before he can make any more witty comments about how Gerard will let anyone into his house, which is how they got into this mess in the first place, the older man is back and carrying a small dog in his arms. “Frankie, meet Houdini!”

Frank doesn't know what to think, or even say to that. He is shocked and strangely elated. “A dog…” he says carefully, mentally pinching himself to see if he is still asleep. “We have a dog?”

“We have three!” Gerard replies happily.

It isn't until Frank is reaching out and feeling the warmth of the puppy's skin does it begin to sink in. They have dogs. They have dogs together, not just for comfort and a small sense of recompense, but because they _can_.

“We only have one here at a time, cause the landlord is a bitch, but Professor Buckley and Bela are living at Mom's while Houdini is here.”

Frank giggles as the puppy licks at him, squirming in Gerard's grasp. “You have a badass name,” he tells it, taking the small animal back into their bedroom to play. “Three dogs… Why have I not ever known about this?”

Gerard shrugs, sitting next to him and watching. It would be slightly creepy if it was anyone else, but Frank has a sneaking suspicion that he is going to draw this scene later on. The dopy and amused expression on his lover’s face is almost laughable as Frank says loudly, “I love you. Like actually.”

*

The walk in the park proves to be of great amusement and distraction. Frank now knows perfectly well how the puppy came to be so fat, as it appears both he and Gerard have the self-control of a two year old when it comes to letting the bundle of fur and yips eat their food. Both of them, now covered in sweat and in Frank's case leaves and smudges of dirt, head to the bathroom to let their too warm bodies be soothed by cool water. Feeling slightly human once more, they reunite with full coffee mugs and begin the task of unpacking some of the boxes clustered around the apartment. Houdini sniffs around them for a few minutes before getting bored and heading back to the studio, tiny nails clicking reassuringly on the floorboards.

“Hey, Gee, what is this?” Frank asks, pulling a weird green pile of material out of one of the boxes. He smirks, thinking it could be an incredible Hulk or even a Ninja Turtle Halloween costume from a decade before.

Gerard's eyes widen as his hand reaches out, brushing the fabric with reverence. “Holy Shit…” he says softly, taking it. “Grandma made me this…”

“Oh,” Frank is at a loss of what to say in response. He figured Elena would not live forever, however awesome that would've been. He had met her on a few odd occasions and knew how much she had meant to both Gerard and Mikey. But suddenly Gerard is grinning at him, his small slightly coffee and nicotine stained teeth showing.

“What…?” Frank begins to ask when the older man suddenly stands, hastily undoing his pants and stepping out of them with a minimal amount of wiggling. Before Frank can continue or even think to form words, Gerard is stepping into the material, a pair of green tights it seems, squeezing and rocking his hips until they are on before a green shirt follows, leaving a strip of pale skin exposed. Frank is filled with conflicting feelings of wanting to piss himself laughing or to lick at the teasing flesh. He opts for the former and collapses on the floor, laughing so hard tears form and pour down his heating cheeks. Before he can gather his breath, Gerard is prancing over him, waving his arms and pretending to fly, singing some ridiculous song about never wanting to grow up.

“What the hell even is this?” Frank chokes out.

“I'm Peter Pan, motherfucker!”

“You're… of course you are,” Frank rolls his eyes and not so silently resumes his cries of laughter.

“Second star to the right, Frank!” Gerard cries in an increasingly high-pitched tone, still standing over him and flailing his limbs in what could almost pass as an uncoordinated dance. “And on ‘til morning!”

Frank cannot take it seriously as small streams of tears pour out of his eyes and his throat aches almost painfully. He holds his hands up to signal that he can't take anymore when Gerard loudly proclaims, “I _do_ believe in fairies!” and promptly dives down on top of him, meeting their lips in a damp caress.

“Why does this even still fit you?” Frank demands between bursts of laughter, attempting to wriggle out from under the weight of the older man pinning him. He is unsure if he will ever be able to think sexy thoughts about Gerard ever again and knows that, however bad he thought it was having sex on top of Star Wars sheets, this is actually worse.

“I don't even know!” Gerard says, clearly elated as he settles himself on the floor beside Frank.

“Please take it off, even Houdini is embarrassed.”

The older man wiggles his eyebrows at the _take it off_ comment before rolling his eyes and stating that Frank is no fun.

“You are so not allowed to wear that out. I could see the veins in your balls.”

“So I'm allowed to wear it in then?” Gerard asks with a smirk, carefully rolling the fabric off, his fingers almost lovingly caressing it. Frank cries his disapproval and fervently begins to list twenty reasons why not. “But you're smiling. I like that.”

“Smiling is not an invitation to be sexed up by a man wearing a child's costume that smells like three decades of mothballs. Not to mention… tights!” Frank explains, gesturing wildly.

“That's not what I'm saying. I like seeing you laugh, especially after yesterday. After what you've been through. What I did to you… it's so good to be able to make you laugh like that.”

All Frank can do is numbly nod. He feels like he should be the one apologizing, to be saying how good it makes him feel to see Gerard like this, happy and weird and perfect. But he doesn't. He watches as the older man slides back into his normal clothes and makes him promise not to breath a word to his brother.

Frank puts on his best innocent face before immediately skidding to his feet and rushing out to find the telephone to call Mikey. He gets half the number dialed in before Gerard's hands are wrestling his, trying to take the phone away from him, with the additional threat of no more blow jobs. Frank’s mistake is hesitating for a second and suddenly the older man is hanging up the handset and laughing. He dives back in, fingers searching out all the sensitive and ticklish parts and digging in whilst gasping, “You're five, you're actually five.”

“You're not so tough, Iero… I could take you,” Gerard pants as they suddenly find themselves falling back onto the floor as the older man loses his battle to stay upright when Frank climbs him. The force knocks air out of both their lungs, stunning them into a rare moment of silence.

“Really now? You could take me?” Frank asks, straddling and pining him down. He cannot resist the urge to grind down a little, or the urge to tug Gerard's wallet from his pants when he feels it sticking into his leg.  
The older man struggles under him, pressing up slightly into the friction and dirtily mouthing, “You can take me any day.” Frank rolls his eyes and leans down, pressing another kiss to his lips. “Mission success,” Gerard says breathlessly, not breaking contact between them.

“Oh yeah?” Frank asks, waving the wallet and proceeding to open it while grinding down teasingly onto his lover's increasing erection.

He stops suddenly when he sees the photograph though, his mouth suddenly dry. He knows they have talked about this not being a good idea, how Gerard shouldn't do it, but here it is. Frank looks older in the photo than he is now, his hair is short, almost a buzz cut. If it were another other time he'd be making cracks about how he looks younger here except for the additional tattoos, but it's not right.

“Please leave it,” Gerard begs, suddenly quiet, raising his hands in an attempt to take it back. “I miss you when you're not here. It reminds me you're real, that you'll come back. Please, just let me keep it.”

Frank hates that he has to hear those words. He knows Gerard loves him and that he struggles like anyone would with his constant irregular absences. Like Jamia did. _Fuck_. He swallows hard as Gerard makes excuses like he never has his wallet out for more than two seconds in public and that it is nice to have things seem normal. Frank would love to agree but he shakes his head and clambers off.

“ _Please_ , Frankie, it's too much like you never existed when you're not here if I don't have anything to remember you with, anything tangible.”

It takes a long moment, but nothing more needs to be said before Frank relents and slowly hands him back the wallet. He feels conflicted. He knows how much shit could go down if someone catches up with him or whatever, how many charges the feds would try and place on him, not to mention potential science experiments like some demented sci-fi movie. But he watches as relief washes over Gerard's face as he tucks it back into his jeans and it seems worth it.

“I know it…” the older man searches for the right word as his fingers trace down Frank's arm. “Scares you. That anything might tip someone off. But no one's gonna find out. I won't let them.”

Frank nods, leaning into the touch. He wants to believe him so badly that his stomach is in knots, but he quickly changes the subject to one that has been subconsciously bothering him for a little while. “You said you missed her before, you meant Elena right? I'm sorry.”

Gerard's eyes grow a little distant as he tucks his hands back into his lap. “Ah, thanks. It was a while ago now though.”

Frank wonders how long ago and almost brings himself to ask. But however long ago it was, it seems still too soon to be asking about her. It has always struck him how it was odd that she had approved of him and Gerard together. The few times he had met her, she'd smiled at him as if she _got it_. He was pretty sure most grandmothers weren’t big fans of crazy, tattooed boys who aren't really around much and never make it for Christmas, regardless of whether said boy was dating their grandson or not. He can’t stop the thoughts of his own grandparents lurking in his mind. They would have locked Frank up, had him committed to an asylum and probably disowned him for the choices he has made. Strict Catholics that they were, there was no way they ever would have approved of him and Gerard together. Hell, his mother probably wouldn't have dealt with it well either. He mentally thanks whoever is listening that he doesn't have to deal with that and that he can be here now and with the person he loves, rather than stuck in the middle of last century.

“She was so determined that I would make it big doing something. I just hope I get there for her some day,” Gerard says softly, standing and offering his hand to Frank to pull him up.

“Oh you do,” Frank replies with a convincing grin.

Gerard thinks on it for a minute before nodding slowly and thanking him. Frank just beams back and makes a mental note to physically drag him to the bank before he is snatched away.

*

After three weeks with Gerard, Frank is disappointed to leave. He knows that he should never get too comfortable in a place, with a certain age of his lover, but it is hard. Especially when he has helped him resign from his soul sucking job, spent far too many hours curled up either in front of the TV or in bed together, walked their many dogs and dragged him to a tattoo parlor to get another one of his pieces inked, it reads _Forget Me Not_ and this time he won't. He knows he’s been head over heels, stupid Hollywood movie type of love for the artist for a long time, but it is only as he retches onto the darkened sidewalk that he realizes how much. He aches to be back with him. Frank squeezes his eyes shut and concentrates on breathing. Eventually he gets his priorities straight and tries to access where and when the hell he actually is. It is cold, he knows that much and wastes no time in crouching down, waiting for someone to come past for him to mug. He had gotten over the guilt of it years ago due to the fact that if he didn't, he wouldn't survive. Lady Luck seems to be on his side however and his chance for clothes and cash comes in the form of some drunk staggering cocky asshole. He watches as the man approaches, yelling and wolf whistling in the street. Frank whole-heartedly decides this guy needs to learn some manners. He quickly darts out, clamping a hand firmly around the guys mouth to silence him. The guy is pushing six foot and puts up a small drunken struggle, which he inevitably loses as air is choked from him and unconsciousness drags him down to the damp pavement. Frank quickly strips him of his too large coat and pants, hurriedly pulling them on. He is unsure how long he is going to be stuck here for and would rather no be arrested for indecent public exposure or risk getting sick. More than cops and jail cells, he hates getting sick. It makes him more insubstantial, his head a blurry mess, like he can't hold onto anything. He doesn't have time to strip the guy of his wallet before he sees a woman descend out of a store and close up for the night. He freezes, knowing he is caught and that any moment she will be calling the cops. She is older, maybe early forties with long dark hair and a kindly expression. Frank starts to run.

“Wait!” the woman cries out, but he doesn't stop.

Running feels almost good, would be better, he thinks, if he weren't tripping over the too long pants. He mentally kicks himself for not being faster and grabbing some cash. The guy would've had some on him for sure. He finds himself pick pocketing again as he weaves in amongst the last stragglers after sunset. After managing to scrape together a few bills he slips into a warm and worn looking coffee house and orders what little he can for the green in his hand. He settles into a small booth, letting the hot caffeine settle into him. It isn't as good as what he has just been drinking with Gerard and he longs to be back there. Lost in a weird haze of thoughts he doesn't register that someone has slid in the booth opposite him and is pushing another coffee towards him. He jerks back suddenly, eyes wide and fearful as he recognizes the lady from before. She smiles at him, her face open and honest.

“Pancakes are coming as well, and for fuck’s sake settle down. You're making people look at you,” she says before bringing her own cup to her faded lipstick-red lips.

He sucks in a breath and tries to access the best way to get the fuck out of this situation.

“Don't go,” the lady says when he finally makes a move to leave, her hand reaching out to grasp him. “I'm not gonna call the cops. You just looked like you might need some food and something hot to drink.”

Frank is taken aback and sits again, gratefully reaching for the full cup. “Thank you,” he chokes out, unused to kindness or even basic acknowledgment when he is somewhere strange. The lady smiles at him, patting his arm in a weirdly understanding way.

When the food comes quickly he cannot help but dive into it. Time traveling always leaves him starving and feeling like he has run a marathon. The dark-haired woman laughs a little at his blatant enthusiasm and tucks into her own plate. Frank can feel her gaze on him as he eats. It is a little weird but he eventually asks what her name is through a mouthful of fluffy pancake.

“Oh, it's Mrs. Summers,” she replies and grins at him. It is then that he remembers seeing her once before. He’s been to this time before.

“Nice to meet you,” he replies, extending his hand like a gentleman. “My name is Frank, you own the little bookstore just down the road don't you?”

“Yeah, that's me,” she replies, shaking his hand and smiling at him.

He thanks her again for the food and the coffee and not calling the cops on him. He watches her expression carefully as she gives a laugh. There is something tangibly familiar with her, almost as though he is pulled to this time and place, to… no. He buries the thought, thinking that it is too far fetched.

“You got somewhere to stay? It's cold out tonight,” Mrs. Summers offers and suddenly Frank is afraid. He doesn't want this – not to be here, not to feel this weird tug to her deep inside him.

He quickly lies to her saying that he has a place, that it's fine, even though it is really, really not. He can see the recognition on her open face and read it in her chocolate colored eyes. He offers to get her more coffee, jittering oddly in his seat.

Mrs. Summers gives another laugh, the sound warm in the air between them. “Seriously, calm the fuck down. For someone who spends their time hiding you make it very easy to be seen.”

Frank freezes as she continues saying that sure, she'd like another coffee. Panic quickly fills him. Hiding? Has he been hiding from her? Oh fuck. He hates to think. He doesn't want to believe it. Screaming and running away seem like two very good ways of dealing with the hell that currently encircles him. “Uh, what?” he manages finally with a blink. “I'm not hiding, do I know you?”

The older lady shakes her head. The years have settled on her well and only the creases around her eyes betray a real sense of her theoretical age. “Thought you might like something to eat and drink, maybe some company. I'm just the lady from the bookstore.”

Frank nods, knowing he is acting weird and goes and fetches her more coffee. He is glad for the hot food in his stomach but he would rather have been anywhere else, with anyone else. For the third time in as many weeks he is afraid and uneasy about what happens in his future. He prays this is just a once off as his mouth orders another cup from the tired looking waitress. He is in _love_ with Gerard. He actually _needs_ him and he is more than happy to have him as his weakness. There is no way in hell he wants to give that up. What happened with Jamia was bad enough, but he found Gerard. There is no way in his mind that any other could best the man – his man. It gives him a moment of pause as he wonders when exactly his life became a strange sort of hero worship for the artist, but it is brushed aside by the fierce need to defend him, to defend them and what they have together.

Frank hands the coffee over, reluctantly taking his seat again opposite the woman. So far he has only been pulled to people he loves, and as he stares at her he wonders what the hell he is going to do should this be an obvious pattern. She had introduced herself as Mrs. Summers and there is indeed a ring on her fourth finger. But that didn't have to mean anything right? He feels physically and emotionally sick at the thought that maybe he will sleep with her, his stomach rebelling so strongly against its contents that he misses what she has just been saying. He's not attracted to her, fuck, he hasn't been attracted to any woman for a while now, let alone some middle-aged brunette. He doesn't even want to entertain the thought that it is possible, that he gets pulled to someone else, that eventually maybe he will stop having Gerard in his life. He mentally swears. There is no fucking way he wants this. He thanks her once again and stands quickly. He needs to leave right now.

“Hey,” she says warmly as her hands capture his wrist once again, her eyes darting down with a fondness to his tattooed skin. He wants to wrench it out of her grasp and maybe punch her. “Stop by the bookstore sometime, say hi.”

He nods and lets the lies spill out from his lips. He tries to make it quick and convincing that he will, despite his intentions not to do anything of the sort. He tells her that it was nice to meet her and that he has to go somewhere, trying his best to ignore the way she sighs and looks a little sad as she wishes him luck.

At last her too warm grip on him is gone and it takes all his self restraint not to sprint out the doors of the diner and away from her. He fights with himself not to turn around and look back towards the diner, back towards her. He feels hurt and upset with himself. How could he let this happen? Especially to Gerard. Fuck. The pressure in his head grows greater from the anxiety and confusion over what the fuck he is going to do. It grows so much that he finds himself on his hands and knees down an alleyway. The pain is blinding as he disappears.


	7. Division VII

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “They always like this?” Ray asks just as Gerard makes a tiny noise in the back on his throat and wriggles into a position that allows his to keep attempting to kiss Frank.
> 
> “Oh, for the love of… Gee! I'm right here!” Mikey complains, smacking his brother with one of his own pillows.

The first thing he feels besides the damp cold grass beneath him is the vomit burning its way out. He chokes and spits it onto the ground; head pounding hard and limbs feeling like jelly. Everything hurts. Frank squeezes his eyes shut, trying in vain the keep the welling mess of salty tears at bay as his body reject the previous meal of pancakes and bitter coffee. It takes a few minutes before he is able to stand and make his way to the familiar unlatched basement window. It feels achingly good to be back here, knowing how close he is, and he cannot wait to have Gerard in his arms, to feel them pressed together. He slips into the room, overwhelmed at the darkness and smells that surround him. Finally, when his eyes adjust, he sees Gerard sleeping, his dark hair an inky mess across his pillow, his mouth slack and innocent. Something twists in his stomach. There is no way he is giving this up. Not for anything and certainly not because of some woman he met briefly only a few minutes ago.

Frank slips in beside him, careful with his movements. His joints click and protest as he lowers himself beneath the pile of mismatched duvets, the noises too loud in the otherwise silent room. He easily molds his body around Gerard's slightly smaller one. He grins a little in the dark, excited at the prospect of a younger Gerard, even though he is still obviously stuck at a stage of not really showering. Sleep captures him quickly in its embrace, relaxing and lulling him into something he is desperately seeking. If he were awake enough he would've summed it up plainly as _home_.

He is awakened when the body next to him tosses and turns with the occasional muttered curse and groan of annoyance.

“You okay?” Frank finally asks, woken for the fourth time by Gerard. It is obvious the second it takes for his brain to play catch up that the younger man is really not okay. He can feel the tremors running through him and the fact that he sees to be coated in a cold sweat. Worried, he tugs him closer, gently running his hands down his clammy body in an effort to calm and sooth him. “You can't sleep?” he tries again, trying to keep the blatant concern out of his voice. He supposes that it is nightmares again and wishes it was lighter in the room so he could see better and know what it is he is meant to be dealing with.

Gerard curls against him instinctively, gasping and panting slightly against him. The shivering doesn't stop despite Frank's best efforts.

“I…” Gerard eventually stutters. “If I took a few pills right now I could sleep like the dead–” he breaks off and Frank feels their shared cringe at the choice of words. “Sorry,” he mumbles, embarrassed.

“Oh,” is all Frank can manage for a moment. He knows exactly when he is. Shit. He was hoping that he wouldn't have to experience this for a little while longer, but is glad that he can be there for him at least. He decides that Fate is a cruel and heartless bitch, especially when he remembers the conversations he has had with the Gerard who is several years away from the one in bed with Frank at the moment. “You didn’t, did you?” he hates to ask, to not be able to trust him, but knows it is safer if he doesn’t trust him. He bites his lips closed to stop himself from asking about the coke. He desperately hopes that he has already dealt with it by this point.

“Hey,” Gerard says, a little offended. “Not sleeping, so obviously not.”

Frank breathes slowly and squeezes Gerard a little closer, asking if he was going to. He knows that he shouldn't bait him like this, but he figures that he is at least owed some answers.

He feels Gerard throw his head back and sigh. “No,” his voice is exasperated and weak. “It’s just frustrating, cause I know withdrawal is going to be a bitch and that I should be as ready for it as possible, but I can’t fucking sleep.”

Frank just nods. He can’t empathize, but he’s heard a lot about how shit detoxing is so he knows the logistics of what the two of them are in for. He too wishes Gerard could get some sleep before it gets too bad. “Want me to jerk you off?” he asks with a small smile, the thought like a light bulb in his brain, his hand already skidding slowly down to Gerard’s hip and touching at the waistband of his pajama bottoms. Sleep, he decides, can wait.

Gerard laughs and looks like he’s about to say that it’s okay, he doesn’t need it right now, then thinks better of it. “Actually… It couldn’t hurt, right?”

It is all the permission he needs to slip his hand all the way in, wrapping his fingers around his lover's growing arousal. When Gerard finally comes, Frank kisses him hard to muffle his sounds while the rest of the house sleeps. He cannot help but smile when he feels his name fall off Gerard’s lips. He wipes the mess off his hand onto the side of the sheet, making a mental note to make sure Gerard has clean everything before neither of them have the time or inclination to care anymore.

“Good?” He whispers hotly into his ear and rubs his stomach as Gerard breathes heavily through the last few shudders.

He sighs shakily with a vigorous nod. “Ohh…” he groans contentedly. “Yeah…” His hand trails over Frank’s body, but Frank just wraps his own fingers around it and brings it to his face, kissing the palm and shaking his head. Gerard makes a questioning noise, but Frank just slots their fingers together and drops light kisses up his neck before snuggling in close and closing his eyes. Despite how turned on he is, the desire to be close to him, to hold and be held is stronger and higher on his _to do immediately_ list. He figures if worst comes to worst, he can always jerk off in the morning, preferably in the shower to the image of an older Gerard's hands and mouth.

It doesn't take long for sleep to settle inside him and just as he slips off he is brought back by the shaking figure next to him. Frank blinks and gently pats him, hoping that his uncoordinated movements might bring some hint of comfort. It is going to be a long night, especially when Gerard flips over and almost hesitantly kisses his lips. Frank kicks at the blankets, bringing them up once more, mistakenly thinking that Gerard is cold. He offers to tell the younger man a story. He's not that good at it but figures it'll be better than nothing or fighting with him. Without looking, he knows Gerard is raising an eyebrow at him.

“Do you have a good one?”

“Well, there’s the one with the zombies, the weird fairy tales, some about you when you were younger…”

“About me?” Gerard cuts in, surprise coloring his tone before slowly asking, “When did you first see me?”

That one is easy, Frank thinks, he remembers it clearly as it was not such a long time ago. “The youngest I have is when you were three,” he smiles. “I’ve been stalking you for a while now. I followed your mom on the bus and sat outside and watched as you played in your yard with the leaves.”

“Yeah?” Gerard asks, voice slightly dreamy and Frank knows he is picturing the scene in great detail.

“You were pretty adorable. And your mom was about to pop with Mikey.” Frank adds, smiling when a small attempted giggle slips out of his lover's lips.

“What about after that? I don’t think you were there a hell of a lot when I was really young.”

Frank takes a moment. He wishes he could have been around more during Gerard’s childhood, but time travel is a bit of a bitch like that. “The next time was when you were five, remember? Some kids were giving you shit. The next time you were eight. You recognized me before I even saw you – I must get to go back to kid-you again just before then. You were walking home with Mikey. You were all” he puts on a voice that badly imitates the child-Gerard, “Frankie? Hey, Mikey, it’s Frankie!” Gerard grins into the dark at that. “You dragged me into your room and showed me a pile of comics, telling me I’d bought them for you,” Frank laughs at the memory as it comes back to him. “You were so annoyed that I didn’t remember… Afterwards we sat in the lounge and watched cartoons, laughing at them and eating cereal.”

Gerard smiles fondly and nods. “I remember that… I fell asleep on your lap.”

“Yeah,” Frank giggles. “You were so cute.”

“You’re a dirty old man,” Gerard laughs, turning his face back towards Frank. “Stalking eight year olds…”

“Am not! You approached me! And I was a good friend!”

Gerard sighs at that, soothing his indignant tone completely, “You were. You were my best friend. You were so good to me, even back then…”

The laugh escapes Frank’s mouth before he can stop it and he squeezes his fingers where they rest against the sweaty skin of Gerard’s back. “Cause I bought you comics and hung out with you?”

“Cause you let me hang out with you.” Gerard’s voice is suddenly quiet, a little embarrassed even. Shaking his head, Frank points out that he’s not that great, that Gerard is the awesome one, but the shivering man just snuggles closer and points out how time traveling automatically makes him the awesome one. “I’m just weird,” he adds.

“And I love you for it,” Frank counters quickly, stroking his hair back and hearing the small sigh he gets in reward. “An older you told me I was your first kiss…”

He feels Gerard’s lips form a smile against his shoulder. “You were. There were a couple of others around the same time, but none of them were anything like you.”

“I… I haven’t been there yet. Care to share? Or is that cheating?”

He smiles and takes a deep breath. “I was thirteen. I didn’t really get why the other kids liked kissing, it just looked messy to me, I didn’t understand what was so great about it,” Frank giggles a little and Gerard just shrugs. “I was a little more awkward than most kids. So I asked you… You’d been around for a couple of hours already, just hanging out. I just blurted it out. You were kind of shocked, I guess, it was pretty funny, looking back now. You said it depended on who you were kissing. I didn’t really know what you meant, but I thought you were pretty smart so I went with it.”

Frank laughs. “Well, of course, to your thirteen year old brain…”

Gerard just shrugs again a little. “Anyway, I just kind of… Landed you with it, I guess. We kept watching TV for a while longer, then you said you’d be leaving in a minute and, well, I don’t know. I grabbed your hand and put my lips against yours.”

“Wow,” Frank says, eyebrows almost at his hairline. “Uh, so I was just convenient? You’re such jailbait, Gee.”

Suddenly the back of Gerard’s hand is colliding lightly with Frank’s shoulder. “No, you idiot, I just didn’t realize until then!”

“Realize what?”

Frank can feel the heat of a blush crawl over Gerard’s face, so he trails his fingers over his ribs, tracing them, trying to help him relax. “That I had a crush on you.” His voice is quiet and shy again.

But Frank can’t help but groan, “I’ve upset the natural order!” And that, at least, makes the man next to him laugh and ask what the hell he is talking about. “You were meant to get crushes on girls who were your age,” he explains with an exasperated sigh. “Normal stuff, not having a thing for the strange man that hangs out with you whenever he’s around.”

“I never liked girls, Frank,” Gerard laughs. “You know this. I’ve kissed one girl in my life and that was your fault with your high speed lecture about how I should be–” he puts on a voice like a trained parrot, “kissing girls my own age, not you, before you faded into nothing.”

Touching down to the bottom of his ribs, Frank digs his finger into the skin and watches Gerard yelp a little. “I am pretty smart then. Good to know and, to be fair, the speech was most likely due to your age. Thirteen? Jeez.”

The man next to him nods, “I know that now. I was kind of pissed off at the time.”

“You were practically a toddler! And I would have to be at least twenty-four?”

“I was a teenager!” Gerard protests, then adds in nothing more than a quiet mumble that Frank was twenty-seven.

Frank’s eyes are wide, but he laughs. “Oh, cause that makes it so much better!” He exclaims and rolls his eyes.

As Gerard gives him a light shove and tells him to shut up, Frank notices that the tremors under his skin are almost gone entirely. “Don’t you want to know if you’re a good kisser or not?” He is asking when Frank looks up to his silhouette in the dark.

He just grins. “I know I am, but tell me again.” He senses, rather than sees, the roll of Gerard’s eyes. “Besides,” he adds. “It was just a kiss. Not like we made out or anything… Did we?” He’s suddenly worried, feeling worse because, even knowing all of this, he will still do it all when the time comes for him.

“You stopped,” Gerard says flatly. “Almost straight away. You pressed back for a second, then pushed me back.”

“Cause you’re a baby!” Were? Will be? Frank shakes his head a little like it will help him make sense of all this. When he looks up again, Gerard is looking back at him, expression unreadable regardless of the dark.

“I was in love with you! Or I would have been if I’d known what it was at the time.”

“At thirteen?” Frank can’t help but ask, skeptical, wishing – not for the first time – he wasn’t the way he is, imposing on lives instead of becoming a part of them at natural times. “Goddamn it,” he adds to himself in a whisper, beating himself up a little.

“You doubt it even though I’m with you now?” Gerard asks as though Frank has forgotten that his hand was down Gerard’s pants less than an hour ago.

“I doubt it when you try to destroy yourself,” he answers, not knowing if he wants Gerard to hear it, before adding a quick “never mind.” But he feels him still, then uncurl himself from Frank and watch him for a moment before rolling over to face away from him. “Gee…” Frank whispers repentantly. “Come back.” Eventually he curls himself around Gerard into the big spoon position and kisses the back of his neck softly. For a moment, Gerard tries to shrug him off, but gives up quickly.

“I love you more than anything. Why can’t you believe that I might have loved you when I was younger?” Gerard mutters back, the hurt evident in his voice.

Frank whispers a sincere apology into his ear and speaks with a soft yet conflicted voice, “I just feel bad,” he says. “I feel like I’ve stolen you. Like I had no right to be in your life at such a pivotal age. It was the same with Jamia,” he barely registers Gerard’s flinch, lost in his confession. “She used to get so mad at me and tell me how she never had a choice…” He trails off as he realizes whom he is talking about and swears, apologizing again. “Gee, I’m sorry I didn’t mean to bring–”

Gerard cuts him off. “I’m not mad at you. I chose you. I was forced to be with you as much as anyone is forced to be with the person they love,” he shrugs. “It just doesn’t work with anyone else. It’s not like I’ve never tried, you know. You’re not the only person I’ve been with ever.”

“Really?” The word is out of Frank’s mouth before he can stop it, but a slightly wounded feeling that Gerard has been with other people wells up in him, regardless of how irrational he knows it is.

Gerard’s eyebrows are narrowed when he turns back towards Frank, fixing him with a stare that pries into his brain. “What do you mean _really_?” He asks evenly, making Frank stutter and realize that he might be walking on thin ice here.

“I. I just... I had no idea…”

The frown on Gerard’s face relaxes a little. Frank is about to ask when these others happened, his curiosity overwhelming his mental self-preservation, but an answer comes before he can speak. “You weren’t always here as much as you are now,” Gerard says calmly.

“I know that. Gee, you don’t have to tell me,” he’s not sure if he really wants to know.

“It was never anything that long,” Gerard explains with a shrug, as though Frank hadn’t spoken. “There’s not a lot to tell.”

“How long is _long_?”

“The longest was three months,” Frank stares, jaw open. “It was when I first went to art school. I hadn’t seen you for nearly a year – which wasn’t that uncommon, I didn’t know you’d be coming more often later on – you were never around for as long as you are now either,” at that point, Gerard stops, looking at Frank in confusion as he pulls his arms back to himself and shuffles away a little in the bed.

“Three months?” He asks, voice weaker than he would like.

Gerard blinks. “You’re kidding me, right? I have a boyfriend for three months when you and I aren’t together and you look at me like I cheated on you; like you don’t want me anymore?”

His question and tone of voice shakes Frank back to himself. “Gee, of course I want you! It’s just… A bit to process,” he swallows. “It’s hard to hear you say it.”

He feels the movement of Gerard shaking his head. “What the fuck, Frank? You’ve got a tattoo on your neck of the date of your wedding and it’s too hard to hear me talk about a guy I saw for three months when we were too busy studying to actually see each other much?” His voice is calmer than Frank expects to hear with those words, but at the mention of his blatant hypocrisy makes him want the earth to open up and swallow him.

He takes a deep breath and sarcastically bites back. “Oh, okay, I’m sorry. Was it just sex, then?” He clamps his hand over his mouth, but it’s too late.

But Gerard is laughing. Quietly and a little ragged, but laughing. “You want to know, don’t you?” And Frank doesn’t need to answer, because Gerard is shaking his head again, but smiling this time. “And you know what, it’s fine,” he adds quickly. “I don’t want there to be things between us that we don’t talk about. We’re passed that.” Frank nods, curiosity dragging him forward, desperate to know anything about this man in front of him that he might not already know, not caring about the consequences. “His name was Adam,” Gerard says, almost clinically. “He was part of the music school, used to throw microphones around until he was entirely tangled in the cords. He took me out on a few dates, introduced me to his friends and family just to see their reactions, and I clung to him to distract myself, as rebound from you. We got along great, he was very sweet. We fucked the first time backstage at one of his shows after everyone had gone.”

Frank flinches a little. He’s never heard Gerard talk about sex with such detachment before, never heard him be so disconnected with the act. He wriggles uncomfortably, unnerved by Gerard’s cool tone as much as the idea of him being with anyone other than Frank.

Gerard seems to take his actions as reluctance to hear anymore and softens his voice. “Frankie, let me tell you the rest? It’s not what you think. And I don’t want to have secrets, I want you to know the good and the bad. I want to tell you.” Frank nods after a moment, thinking he deserves it after everything he’s put Gerard through, but the story doesn’t end how he expects. “You came back to me, only for a few seconds, right into my room. It was enough for me to touch your shoulder and hear my name in your voice. Enough for me to know what was wrong with me and Adam, why it wasn’t working. He wasn’t you.” The last three words let the feeling that Gerard’s voice always carries back in again. “I called him as soon as you left, we had coffee and I broke it off. He was sweet, but I never loved him.” He takes a deep breath. “I’m glad I had that time with him though. Now I’m sure that you’re right for me, I might have doubted it if I hadn’t known anything else.”

Frank is about to start saying that he’s glad they are talking about Gerard here, not the shit excuse for a human being that he is himself, but the voice next to him is still speaking. “You should know what it’s like for me. You said that, other than Jamia, I’m the only one. You should know what it’s like to know you love someone with one hundred percent certainty.” So he crawls a little closer again and wraps his arms lightly around Gerard.

“I love you,” he says. “So damn much. I have no idea what I did before I met you – how I survived.”

Gerard presses his lips to Frank’s forehead and Frank can feel him smile. “I love you too, Frankie.”

He barks out a sudden, quiet laugh. “Thank goodness for that!” He wonders if Gerard is tired yet, but doesn’t want to ask in fear that the shakes in his body might return in full force again. But Gerard is giggling a little now.

“I knew from the time I was twelve, you know.”

That makes Frank laugh too, and pull the man closer to him. “You’re so weird,” he says fondly.

“You like that though,” Gerard adds.

“Your weirdness, or the fact that I corrupted a thirteen year old?” Frank asks, not entirely sarcastically. Gerard scoffs and tells him to shut up, that he didn’t corrupt him. That he didn’t even kiss him back.

Frank hesitates, “Should I have? When did we actually, properly, for real kiss then?”

Gerard smiles, remembering, and a moment comes to Frank’s mind from his own past, perhaps a year ago. The two of them were curled up on the couch watching movies – Batman, maybe? – while the rest of the Way’s were away for the weekend: Frank leaning against the armrest and a teenage Gerard sitting next to him, inching over and leaning against him occasionally, trying to keep his movements subtle. They had been talking about school, the chemistry teacher that picked on Gerard even though he was always good at science when Frank became aware of just how close Gerard’s hand was to Frank’s crotch. He remembers seeing the Joker repainting everything in an art gallery when Gerard suddenly moved, from practically lying on him, to twisting and lifting himself over him, one hand in Frank’s lap, the other grasping at Frank’s hand. Gerard had pressed his lips hard against his and Frank lost all sense of everything except Gerard and kissed back, moving forward a little as Gerard pulled back for a moment. His grin had been so bright, and he licked his lips a little before leaning back in and pressing his tongue forward.

“You totally copped a feel,” Frank says out loud.

That makes Gerard’s lips tug into a grin again. “Unintentionally is the story I’m sticking with,” and Frank just rolls his eyes. “You tasted like cigarettes, but I probably did too.”

Gerard _had_ tasted like cigarettes, too, but something else indefinable on top of that, something Frank had come to know as the taste of pure Gerard. Even from that young age he had that taste, lurking under the cigarettes and coffee that Frank had always been sure teenagers weren’t supposed to taste like. Frank had held him there, half straddled over his thighs, with his hands resting lightly on his waist. He had pulled a little, but not enough to do anything other than show that what they were doing was okay and stop the kid from losing his balance and braining himself on the table. Frank remembers how his brain flitted through the possibilities of Gerard needing stitches and a trip to the hospital and an awkward phone call to his parents, before he remembered that Gerard was kissing him and nothing else mattered when someone had lips that soft. So he just kissed him back, slowly, letting him take his time, subtly taking the hand, which wasn’t giving enough pressure anyway, off his lap while Gerard was distracted with Frank sucking gently on his lip. It was a long time before they pulled apart.

They curl up in the memory for a few minutes longer, until Frank can’t keep the yawn out of his voice any more. “Do you think you can sleep?” He gets out around the sound. “Because I’m about to start snoring like a walrus any second now.”

Gerard’s hand curls in Frank’s hair, making him snuggle in and yawn again. “Go for it,” he says gently. “I don’t mind.”

Frank knows it’s at least half-lie. He can feel the shakes starting in his body again and he rubs gently over his arms to try to calm him inconspicuously. “Mmm,” he mumbles. “But what about you? Can I do anything?”

“Just be here, Frankie,” Gerard whispers, kissing the top of his head and letting Frank wrap him up with his limbs. “Just be here.”

“I can do that,” he assures, yawning loudly again before reaching up and licking into his mouth lazily.

“Good night.”

Frank smiles. “Night, love. If you need anything, wake me up, okay?”

Gerard leans back down, trying to keep Frank’s tongue but just smiles against his lips instead. “I will.” So Frank kisses him once more, softly, carefully, before falling asleep. He barely notices the arms around him tighten as they shudder more and more.

He doesn't stick around very long. Long enough to see Gerard throw up more times than he could count and beg for anything and everything to make the pain go away. He feels like he is abandoning him but cannot help but feel some relief when he disappears in the shower two days later.

*

When he next opens his eyes he is still in the Way house, but no longer in the bathroom, steadying himself against the slick tiled walls of the shower. It is Mikey's room instead. He can tell by the posters and the fact that it doesn't smell as rancid as what Gerard's does. There are still clothes on the floor however. It takes him a moment to find pants and a shirt that actually fit. Mikey must be younger here, maybe early teens. Eventually he sneaks out cautiously, heading towards a familiar voice in the kitchen.

“No, it's in here somewhere! I saw it yesterday!”

“Hey Gee!” Frank calls out, leaning against the bench and trying not to laugh at the way Gerard sounds so insistent and so much like himself. He does a double take on the other occupant in the room and is surprised to see Ray hovering close by. His hair is shorter, more tightly curled and not in the big 'fro he has seen in the future. The glasses he is wearing are sort of weird on his face and Frank has to try his hardest not to laugh or scoop the young teenager who is eyeing him curiously into a hug.

Gerard, predictably, bangs his head the minute the greeting leaves Frank's lips.

“Ow! Wha-Frankie!” It only takes a second before Gerard is running over to him and throwing his arms around his neck. He laughs and hugs back, smiling at how Gerard is slightly shorter than him, having obviously not hit his twenty-year-old growth spurt. He feels the younger man press chapped lips against his neck, squeezing him tighter for a minute before pulling away but not entirely breaking the embrace when he notices the confused expression on Ray's face. “Oh, Toro, this is Frank. Frank, Ray Toro.”

Frank waves around Gerard's lingering embrace and calls out a quick “Nice to meet you,” despite knowing him already. Ray waves back, smiling, and reminds Gerard about finding whatever it was he was hunting for.

“Oh right! Fuck, I swear it's real!” The teenager cries, prying himself away from Frank and going to look in the cupboard again. Frank can't help but snigger and ask what he is looking for.

“His imaginary bottle of vodka. It's all in his mind, I think,” Ray supplies thoughtfully.

Frank makes a noise he hopes will sound like he is agreeing as his mind screams at him. He knows that the Gerard before him is a teenager, maybe eighteen and that it is hypocritical of him to think that they shouldn't be drinking when he was doing exactly the same but younger. It doesn't stop the worry and a weird sense of guilt from tugging at him however, as Gerard triumphantly cries out and straightens up, brandishing the bottle in one hand.

Frank rolls his eyes and finds himself asking if they even have anything to mix it with. Fuck, he sounds like an old man.

“Yes! Jeez, we're not alcoholics here,” Gerard tells him with a grin, lining up a random assortment of coffee mugs as Ray hands him a bottle of Cola. Frank tries to disguise the painful wince that appears on his face. Not yet. Not yet. Fuck.

“You bring any weed as well?” he asks Ray. It is a slim chance and it has been forever that he has actually gotten high; he secretly misses the weird numbness of it, the relaxing sensation and how it seems to make everything kinda bearable for a minute.

Ray shakes his head. “No, but I think Mikey has some, he's downstairs already.”

“Frankie?” Gerard interrupts, waving the bottle of clear booze at him and it hits him how _young_ he is. Frank shakes his head and explains that is probably isn't a good idea for him. He makes a mental note to explain later when Ray isn't in the room. In the future Ray is one of the few outside of his Gerard/Mikey/Jamia circle who know about the time traveling thing and Frank isn't particularly keen to let him know about it tonight. It is too much and he really, really needs a break. He desperately wants things to feel normal, but as he follows the teenagers downstairs with one of Gerard's mom's cigarettes between his lips, he has a sneaking suspicion tonight is not going to go that way. He watches as Gerard hands his younger brother one of the mugs with the small amount of booze in it, there is something endearing in the way he takes responsibility for the fourteen-year-old boy before him. Settling on the bed, he picks up conversation with Ray as Mikey puts some gore dvd on. It turns out that one of Ray's cousins goes to their school and that he is thinking of not going to college next year.

“He's our guitarist though, way better than me!” Gerard interjects, worming his way onto his bed between his brother and Frank, hand clasped tightly around his mug.

“You're in a band?” Frank asks, grinning and laughing a little, unsure how much of it is actually jealously as he would give just about anything to exist normally and play music like his grandfather. The white Les Paul custom he has safely locked up is testament to that and his fingers itch badly to be wrapped around its neck, pressing into its mother of pearl inserts. He watches as Gerard laughs a little, his cheeks coloring in embarrassment as Mikey suddenly pipes up amongst the noise of zombie groans to say, “Not an actual band, but Gee's got it all planned.”

“Shut up, you make it sound stupid,” the older brother replies, shoving the smaller sibling next to him. Apparently Gerard plays guitar – badly – and sings, because Mikey is learning bass guitar. Frank makes another mental note to tease Gerard's older self about it the next time he sees him. The look on his face will be more than worth the beating he is likely to receive with an old tea towel or whatever. Frank makes the mistake of telling Ray that he has seen Iron Maiden live after telling him how awesome his _Somewhere Back In Time_ t-shirt is. He freezes, stuttering around his words and trying to correct himself when Mikey coughs and Ray shoots him a weird look. He quickly lies and tells him that he has seen some kick ass footage his grandfather shot during the late 80s, which thankfully Ray buys and tells him to bring next time. He gives what he hopes is he best hopeful smile and lies once more saying he will try. It's not even a possibility unless they have somehow miraculously harnessed the ability to project memories from a person.

They all fall back into watching the gore and blood on Gerard's “old” TV, but Frank cannot get comfortable. He is too warm in Mikey's tight fitting clothes and being pressed against the older Way brother isn't helping, especially as he slides his hand over Frank’s thigh in the half dark. He swallows hard, unable to quite process that he almost slipped up. It feels like it has been years since he has – hell, it probably has. It seems too easy to put things in motion. For the first time in a while he wants to sink into the happy charade of not caring and to pretend he is nineteen again.

“Mikey!” he whispers, “Ray said you have weed.”

Mikey grins and reaches into his pocket, pulling out an already rolled joint. It seems so strange clasped between his child thin hands. He hands it over with a staunch murmur of, “You have to share,” and a bright orange lighter. It takes Frank a second to realize that the words had been spoken purely with the younger kid's eyebrows and not actually verbalized as he flicks the lighter, its flame springing almost immediately to life.

He raises his eyebrows back in a way he hopes reads, “Always man, always,” before bringing the naked dancing flame to the end of the joint and taking a deep drag. The smoke burns down his throat, almost enough to make him cough. It is too hot and probably a bad idea, but he takes another hit regardless before passing it over to Ray who has his eyes glued to screen currently showing some young woman being tackled by a horde of zombies that hungrily dig into her with hands and mouths covered in black blood. Sure, the special effects have gotten better, Frank notes, but the weeds hasn't. He rolls his tongue across his teeth, noting how chemical everything tastes and the way it numbs his tongue like accidentally tasting kitchen cleaner does.

He can feel Gerard move closer to him, his mug now empty but still clasped in his hand. It is strange to think that one day those hands will hold paintbrushes that will paint works to be exhibited internationally; before that will clutch at beer bottles at some obscene hour; and eventually will touch him, sure and confident. Frank continues to stare at the way his fingers curl, thinking how perfectly they fit into his and how great they would feel wrapped around his dick. It is not until he forces himself to blink that he realizes how close he is to fully barring up, and how close everyone is crammed on Gerard's narrow bed. He feels his face heat and hurriedly looks to the screen to distract himself. He is ninety percent sure it is the weed talking. After a few minutes of feeling the younger boy’s breath brush across his skin, he turns and briefly ghosts his lips past the shell of Gerard’s ear. Gerard grins, sliding his hand further up until his fingers are dangerously close to teasing him into a full-blown erection again. Frank tries to concentrate on the movie and the very little plot it has but Gerard insistently and softly presses kisses along his rough jawline. He endures it for a second before losing all self-control and meeting his lips.

“They always like this?” Ray asks just as Gerard makes a tiny noise in the back on his throat and wriggles into a position that allows his to keep attempting to kiss Frank.

“Oh, for the love of… Gee! I'm right here!” Mikey complains, smacking his brother with one of his own pillows. Frank giggles into Gerard's mouth and cannot find it in himself to stop kissing him. Eventually he is able to pull back and retrieve his tongue, grinning in the illuminated dark.

“Don't you wanna watch the movie, Gee?” he asks teasingly. His head and body are now feeling warm and fuzzy, making everything seem funny. He watches with amusement as Gerard shakes his head and grabs his rough face to kiss him again, his uncoordinated split slick teenage lips searching for contact.

“Want you,” the teenager mumbles when Frank pulls back for a second time.

Mikey groans loudly and proclaims again that he is right there before smacking his brother once more in a vain attempt to stop them. It works about as effectively as throwing a teaspoon, instead of a bucket, of water on two dogs fucking. Frank giggles loudly at the mental image of that before taking a few breaths and pulling away from Gerard's insistent hands and mouth. Upon hearing the complaints begin to fall from Gerard’s lips, he dips his head slightly, whispering against his ear. “Dude, your brother is right there and I'm pretty sure Ray doesn't wanna see or hear us making out.”

Gerard shrugs, hands clinging. “Just cause they're not getting any…” he grumbles with a pout before adding that he promises that they will try to keep their clothes on. Both Mikey and Ray give fake cries at this statement and threaten to kill them both.

“Whatever,” Frank replies, shifting Gerard's hand back down his thigh a little. “They're not about to watch you get any either. And seriously, there are zombies! You'll make me miss all the good parts!”

He flicks Mikey his best _I'm sorry!_ face as the teenager curled around him makes grumbling noises.

“Shhh,” Ray quickly interjects. “If you're gonna go sex each other up, do it upstairs.”

“Don't go near my room!” Mikey yells over the top of the sound of something exploding as his older brother makes more grumbling noises, grabbing the cups and scrambling up to get refills. Frank watches him retreat up the stairs before allowing himself to be distracted by the flickering images. It is a weird luxury to be able to sit down and watch a movie but he cannot get comfortable and eventually he heads upstairs to steal more cigarettes and maybe another kiss.

Gerard is, predictably, in the kitchen, pouring out more drinks. Frank watches as he is slightly more heavy handed with his own mug than the others. Frank tries to ignore it and pretend he didn't see.

“I'm coming back down, you know. I thought you wanted to watch the movie,” the teenager grumbles, taking a sip from his mug and wincing a little.

Frank giggles at his slurred tone and reaches out to touch his hair. It is brown at this stage and cut badly into some sort of weird half grown out bowl thing. “Hmm,” he muses, allowing his fingers to card through it. “But you have funny hair at the moment, and Ray did say we should take this upstairs.”

Gerard half leans into the touch for a second before backing out of it, hand clasped securely around the mug. “Mixed signals here, Frank. I thought _Let's watch the movie_ meant _I don't want you like that_?”

Frank rolls his eyes and steps closer, gripping the teenager’s hips instead, hoping that his actions will speak for him. Gerard presses himself closer, finally abandoning the coffee mug to the kitchen counter.

“I don't exactly see you much,” he murmurs against Frank's neck. His tone catches him off guard and Frank cannot help but press the teenager for answers. It turns out _much_ means maybe once every few months, maybe less. He feels guilty but supposes maybe it is for the best that he isn't there all time. That way there is less chance of him screwing things up in the future, but the thought doesn't completely squash the pang of guilt and sadness that he can't watch him really grown up, that he can't be with him when he probably needs it the most.

“You got five minutes?” he asks, pulling back slightly with a smirk. He really doubts it will take five minutes but he doesn't really feel like offending the teenage boy in his arms.

“Uh, yeah… why?”

“Good.”

With that, Frank grabs Gerard's face with both hands and kisses him hard. It makes his head spin and before he even realizes it, he has dragged them into the lounge room and is falling onto the worn looking couch. The noises and squeaks coming for the boy would usually be comical, but his hands are fisted so tightly in Frank's hair that he is unable to think about anything other than getting them both off right _now_. His hands quickly busy themselves undoing Gerard's pants as his mouth makes a hot trail of kisses and nips at his neck. It is not the most ideal situation, but he is aware enough of the other teenagers’ presence downstairs to make his actions rushed and almost awkward. He hears Gerard gasp loudly the second his jeans and boxes are pulled down enough to fully expose him.

Frank grins and pulls back, settling awkwardly on his knees and marveling for a second just how _undone_ the teenager looks. “Gonna blow you okay?” he asks in a low voice, already making a move to. He knows Gerard is not going to say no but he finds himself waiting regardless, watching as he swallows hard before nodding furiously, eyes wide. It is all the permission he needs before sinking down onto him, taken a little aback by the sharp taste and way his jaw aches a little. Gerard almost immediately lets out a loud moan, shock only stilling his vocal chords for a moment, hands gripping the couch hard as he pants and swears with a mixture of curses with Frank's name attached. It makes Frank cocky and, after a few seconds of getting used to the way his mouth and tongue shape around the cock is his mouth, he pulls off with a small hum of approval.

“Fuck my throat if you want,” he offers. He doesn't stop to really think that this Gerard might not really know what to do with the option before his spit slicked lips wrap around him and his fingers dig into the smooth pale skin on the teenagers narrow hips. He doesn't bother to go slowly or carefully as Gerard's hips jerk up, forcing him deeper. Frank fights the urge to pull off as the back of his throat is assaulted. He is a little disappointed that there are no fingers in his hair, anchoring him down and using him how he likes and he wishes there was more friction. It doesn't take long before he feels him harden and his movements become erratic as curses slide from the younger boy’s lips.

When he finally comes, Frank chokes a little and pulls a face. It is not the most pleasant thing in the world and it barely counts as _being in the heat of the moment_ when he can hear Mikey and Ray yelling about the impracticality of that much blood spurting out of someone's intestines. He quickly pulls off and swallows, trying to shift the bitter salty taste as he redoes the spent teenagers pants. It barely takes a second before he finds Gerard’s mouth again and is grinding against him, seeking some sort of release of his own. Gerard kisses back sloppily, still coming down from his high. It's nowhere near enough and Frank gives a small groan of frustration before undoing his own pants. He quickly dismisses the thought that the pants actually belong to the teenager’s younger brother who could possibly walk in at any moment. That sort of thing was a guaranteed hard on killer.

Gerard makes a small noise in the back of his throat, half breaking the kiss to mutter “I…” before his hand, almost nervously, wraps around Frank's achingly hard cock and begins to stroke gently. “That was so good, but I donno what you like…” the teenager continues as Frank thrusts up harder into his fist, dictating a faster tempo. It is still not quite enough and he finds himself panting and begging the teenager to go faster. His eyes are closed but he is sure if he did open them he would find himself face to face with a very concentrated expression on Gerard's face, possibly his teeth biting into his lower lip.

He feels the teenager nod and quicken his movements before lips hesitantly meet his. Frank kisses back hungrily, moaning as his tongue licks and searches the younger boy’s mouth, which tastes of cola and something that is probably illegal. He feels Gerard's grin as he arches off the couch with a loud “Fuck!” when the teenager twists his hand a little, gripping hard in a way Frank is more used to with an older version of him.

“'S it good Frankie? Want to make it good for you,” Gerard whispers loudly, repeating the previous movement. Frank gives an quick nod before kissing him messily and hard, breathlessly giving instructions to what he knows is the best hand job ever, despite the awkward situation of the sagging lounge room couch and it's proximity to Gerard's brother and best friend. After he has finally come, he wonders how often they have done this. It can't be that often but the proud and almost smug expression on the teenager’s face suggests that it should happen more often. He finds himself pressing small kisses to his cheeks, nose and chin in an oddly sentimental way. There is not much time to bask in the after glow or cuddle as Gerard looks at his hand curiously, contemplating obviously where to wipe it. Frank can all but hear his thoughts as he runs through options such as the couch, his own jeans or the pants Frank is wearing. Frank solves this problem by grabbing his narrow wrist and quickly licking the cooling mess of fluid from his hand. He tries not to gag or leave any of it behind. When he finally meets his eyes again, the younger man is staring at him in awe. Frank smiles at him lazily, taking the opportunity to do his pants up once more.

“What?” he asks coyly, propping himself up a little so the springs don’t dig into him.

“You just… fuck,” Gerard shakes his head and stares down at his hand open mouthed.

Frank cannot help the giggle that slips out as he explains that it is not as if they could just wipe it on the couch or whatever. Donna would totally know. He tries not to think about the time a while back when she asked Gerard when he was actually going to wash his sheets because apparently “They could walk by themselves.” Little had she known, or at least he likes to think so, that they had just spent an entire afternoon on them, messing around and not caring about wiping themselves up with more than the sheet beneath them. It was gross and awesome and Frank is glad that this Gerard will not have to wait long to experience it.

They stagger up and make their way back to the kitchen. Frank smirks a little at the younger boy's obvious discomfort in his jeans and inwardly sighs, remembering how it was to be a teenager and have hormones that put rampaging wilder-beasts to shame. He suggests, as he fills another glass with soda and contemplates how empty his stomach is, that if Mikey and Ray weren't down in the room, then they could mess around more. “But I don't wanna get caught balls deep inside you, you know?”

Gerard trips over slightly and comes within an inch of braining himself on the kitchen bench. “You… we do that?” he asks hopefully once he has reacquainted himself with a vertical axis once more.

“Yes,” Frank replies with a laugh, handing him the rest of his cup before pausing. “Wait, we haven't yet?” The thought seem crazy, but the way Gerard's face is coloring makes it obvious they haven’t. Frank hopes it is because he still has some morals left where Gerard is concerned.

The teenager shakes his head, taking the cup. “I've…” he waves his spare hand a little between them. “You know. But you never… to me.”

“Huh, okay,” Frank replies, a little taken back by the situation and suddenly finding himself desperately hungry.

“…I want to though,” Gerard adds quietly a few seconds after Frank has ripped into a bag of potato chips and shoved some into his mouth.

“Yeah? Maybe another time,” he replies around the mouthful. He is ninety-nine percent sure he hasn't been there or done that. He would like to think he would remember something like Gerard bottoming for the first time.

The teenager nods in response, shifting slightly around his tightly constricting pants. Frank thinks it is odd that he is giving up so quickly, knowing that usually he begs and pesters until he gets what he wants. He quickly swallows the mouthful of chips and sticks his hand back down Gerard's pants and proceeds to jerk him off in the kitchen. Like the couch it is neither comfortable nor ideal, as Gerard moans a little too loudly, babbling incoherently, knees threatening to give out.

“I was a teenager once,” Frank tells him with a grin, rinsing his hand in the sink as the teenager fumbles to do up his pants. “I know it ain't done till it's done twice.”

Gerard gives a weird laugh before pressing his lips to Frank’s cheek and thanking him.

They eventually return to the basement after apparently missing only fifteen minutes of the actual film. Ray cracks up at the sight of their disheveled hair and the grins on their faces but willingly takes another glass of the vodka and cola being handed to him.

“Not like you're getting any, Toro,” Gerard tells him, settling back down onto the bed and ignoring the horrified look his brother is giving him.

“Not true! I totally got some the other weekend at the show!”

“Oh, that Japanese girl? You went home with her? Nice!” Gerard sounds almost impressed and Frank wonders how much of the sentiment the teenager is expressing is genuine rather than sarcastic and condescending, given some of the lectures he has heard Gerard give to other people about not objectifying and blah, blah, blah.

“The one Gee said you were stalking all night?” Mikey asks, making grabby hands for the potato chips in Frank's hands.

“I wasn't stalking her!”

“Sure you weren't… but it obviously worked. You gonna see her again?”

Ray grins. “Yeah, meeting up next weekend. Besides, it's not like she's old enough to be my babysitter, no offense, Frank.”

Frank contemplates acting offended for a second. He wasn't aware he looked _that_ old. Sure, the longer hair and the weirdly dark tan he is spotting at the moment don't really help, but twenty-four or whatever is not really that old. He voices his protests and is surprised when Gerard says “And you were younger last time you were here.”

 _Oh fuck._ Frank quickly shoots the boy next to him a _shut the hell up right now_ look. He definitely does not need to deal with this right now. Ray asks how old he actually is and Frank has to actually think about it quickly. He lies and says twenty-two. That sounds believable and less creepy than what he supposes is actually his real age. He suggests they get pizza as the potato chips haven't done a hell of a lot to curb the munchies and to distract them all from the impeding doom.

“I think we've seen you a bit older. When I was a kid. You remember that, Gee?” Mikey suddenly pipes up. Frank kind of wants to punch him and run the hell away, but instead he summons his best fake laugh and asks how much Mikey has actually smoked. The youngest Way brother looks confused for a second.

“But you… well, okay, you won't remember but Gee you do! He gave us comics!”

Frank can feel Ray's intense stare on them and quickly suggests that he just had a weird dream. He almost regrets it when Mikey glares back him stating, “That's what Mom used to say, that you were only in our imaginations,” before getting up and leaving the room.

“Mikey's mom thought you were his imaginary friend?” Ray laughs. “How come I've only met you now then?”

Gerard has been silent since dropping Frank in the shit, staring at the ground. He breaks his vigil by stating quietly to Frank, “Ray's cool. He can keep it secret, and I'll talk to Mikey, he won't tell anyone else.”

Frank shakes his head. No way. Not in a million years. It is bad enough in his own mind that Mikey knows. He mentally beats himself up for being so careless, so naïve about the whole thing. It strikes him that he really does have, and always has had, double standards between Jamia and Gerard. The thought makes his stomach churn and his mouth dry. He knows that Ray is privy to his secret in the future and it proves to be useful and unnervingly nice to have a _friend_ who understands, but he cannot bring himself to reconcile the fact that it might be right here, right now, in Gerard's dark and smelly bedroom that he finds out.

Ray quickly pipes up and states that whatever it is isn't a big deal as Gerard grabs Frank’s hand and squeezes it reassuringly. Frank jerks his hand back instinctively and gets off the bed.

“You tell him,” he states and makes a move towards the stairs, but he cannot bring himself to leave. He watches as Gerard takes a breath, a serious expression on his face and tells Ray, deadpan, that Frank is a time traveler. Ray, of course, laughs. For some time. Until things get more awkward and he chokes to a stop.

“You're totally fucking with me, there's no way that's even possible.”

Frank looks pointedly at Gerard and tells him to get the photos out. He knows he has then, up until now he has kind of been in denial about them, but older Gerard's broken words of _It reminds me you're real, that you'll come back,_ echo through him and he knows that he cannot deny the teenager before him some sort of promise that he will be back. He watches as Gerard visibly pales and pauses for a second as if trying to ascertain if Frank is actually being serious. He nods to give him the go ahead. Ray is handed a few photos after Gerard's has frantically dug through the mountain of stuff on his desk. Frank draws in a breath and steps closer. He knows the photo currently clasped in Ray's hands and holds his arms out for scrutinizing because of their lack of ink. It takes a few minutes of arguing that there is no way Frank has had them lasered off. To convince him further he tells him that Ray still pays guitar and in a few years time will give him the chainsaw tattoo as an in-joke.

“You give Gerard one too,” he tells him, laughing as Gerard's eyes widen and he stutters. Frank is more than aware of his lover's fear of needles and he has teasingly told an older Gerard multiple times that one of these days he is going to become a heroine junkie. The teenager protests, stating there is no way in hell and that Frank has plenty for the both of them.

It turns into a petty argument, which results in Gerard also leaving the room to “Find Mikey.” Frank can tell from his tone that he is pissed off and feels like shit for pushing him so far. He makes use of the time with Ray though, by answering hundreds of questions, in the end they both decide the situation is pretty fucked but kind of cool at the same time.

Ray promises not to tell anyone else as they dig into the pizza Mikey miraculously returns with. When Frank moans appreciatively around a particularly good slice, Gerard cocks an eyebrow and smirks. After the third or so piece he is feeling a bit weird and heads up stairs in the attempt to find some cold water or fresh air. He feels strange hanging around the teenagers, like he is too old, too serious and too _boring_ for them. He hears the footsteps behind him a minute later and finds Gerard's arm awkwardly circling him, dragging their bodies closer together.

“It's either the weed or I'm not gonna be here too much longer,” he states, turning around to envelope him in a better hug.

He feels the teenagers face falter against him as he stutters out a remorseful “No…”

“I'll see you soon anyway, won't be gone for long,” Frank tells him reassuringly, marveling at how strange it feels to have Gerard actually shorter than him. “Love you, Gee,” he can't help but say and is a little surprised when the teenager draws back with wide open eyes and stumbles over his words.

“Y– Wha-- You do?”

“Um… yes? Of course?”

He manages to stay long enough to watch Gerard bite his lip, as though he is struggling to keep in a grin and carefully says, “I… I love you too,” and his own laugh in reply.


	8. Division VIII

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “You have been here a lot the last few weeks, younger and older. Two days ago you were so much younger,” he laughs. “You were practically a virgin you were so young! I felt pretty old for the first time after that.”
> 
> Frank raises an eyebrow, smirking. “What do you mean _practically a virgin_?”

Frank coughs and rolls over onto his side, confused at the softness beneath him. His eyes fly open and he drinks in his surroundings. He is in a bed, in a room filled with books, paintings and faded posters. Disoriented, he blinks and shuts his eyes as another assault of coughs burst from his chest. The room smells familiar, like coffee and stale cigarettes, but with another smell that he cannot place. His head is spinning and he wants to throw up. He draws in a few shaky breaths until the nausea relents. Someone is singing in the house, loud and slightly off key. He listens for a moment until he can make sense of the garbled lyrics to Bon Jovi's _Living On A Prayer_. For one minute he thinks he is in the past but nothing else seems to attest to that theory. It is when he hears a vocal scale that wasn't in the original song that it all clicks into place. His eyes fly open and he sits up way too fast. His vision swims and with a groan he sinks back down, allowing himself a further minute before attempting to get up once more. Smoking that much weed was a bad idea and he is pretty sure he is going to be paying the price for it for the next few days. The singing continues and he eventually staggers out of the messy bed to follow it down the hallway. He bangs into the table, swearing and trips over assorted shoes and an empty bottle of turpentine. His heart is sinking fast in his chest as he imagines the worst, given what he has just left behind. Maybe… No… The singing continues and drags him out of the crazy thoughts as he stumbles towards the doorway on the left. He just manages to get a grip on the door frame when the singing abruptly stops, only to be replaced with a loud "Fuck!" and a tube of paint sailing past his head, smashing into the wall behind him, missing him by an inch.

"You're a reckless recluse who should stop throwing stuff," he exclaims, half hiding behind the door in case another object is lobbed in his direction. The person spins around, knocking over a jar of brushes on the small table next the canvas he was just working on.

“Frankie!” Gerard exclaims, not caring about the brushes he has tipped over. “Shit, that didn't hit you did it?”

Frank shakes his head, grinning. “No, you have _really_ bad aim,” he mocks, folding his arms across his chest and leaning on the doorframe.

Gerard laughs openly; it is a warm sound that makes Frank's heart squeeze slightly. “Is that so?” says the maybe-forty-something year old approaching him. He just rolls his eyes in response. It was true, there were many things Gerard was very good at, and hand eye co-ordination was just not one of them. Gerard extends his arms out and wraps them around Frank’s waist, his expression changing. “You alright, babe?” he asks.

Frank just shrugs, drinking in the sight of an older happier Gerard. “I'll be fine,” he tells him, trying to play the tough-man card as Gerard pulls him closer, away from his lean on the doorframe and into his arms.

“Don't gimme that shit,” Gerard tells him, his voice warm against his head.

He sighs for dramatic effect despite the huge waves of reassurance that are currently filling him. It was going to be okay, it _is_ going to be okay. He doesn't notice how hard he is actually clinging to Gerard's t-shirt clad chest. “You're covered in paint,” he remarks, pulling away slowly.

Gerard just raises an untidy eyebrow at him. “…That’s different to usual… how?” he asks slowly, giving a lopsided smile. Frank wants to tell him it’s comforting, that it’s reassuring and perfect. But he doesn't and Gerard just continues to remark “And you're not covered in anything. So I'm guessing you want clothes? And food?”

Frank just nods, pulling away from the embrace as Gerard's eyes search his face, questioning. He wants to tell him but it does not feel like the right time. “Food is always good, Gee,” he tells him instead. “I'll just grab some clothes from the room,” he smiles as convincingly as he can and walks out. It is slightly cold in the apartment and clothes seem like a very good idea.

“You know where they are. I'll make you something to eat,” Gerard calls after him, running a hand through his disheveled mess of hair. He watches Frank's small tattooed frame stroll down the hall to the bedroom, dodging the various objects littering the floor before heading to the kitchen.

Frank pulls open the familiar wooden draws, inhaling the familiar smells. It is heartbreakingly relieving to know, to _know_ that nothing has changed. He pulls out a pair of jeans and a white Black Flag t-shirt. The material is familiar underneath his hands as he tugs them on and over his bare skin. He looks around the room. It is clearly theirs. His band posters mixed in with Gerard's books and paintings, Gerard's comic figurines mixed in with his records and LPs. It is familiar and intensely comforting.

Eventually he convinces himself to leave its sanctuary and head into the kitchen. It is a mess of plates and bowls and cups, filled with paint or covered in it. He suppresses an inner sigh as Gerard turns to face him, a smile brightening his face.

“All dressed up for me?” he smirks, absentmindedly stacking dishes on top of one another in the already overflowing sink. His hands constantly busy. Frank takes a few steps closer towards him, trying to ignore the irrational feeling that he is cheating on Gerard with his older self. It is hard not to prefer him like this.

“Pffftttt,” Frank replies, “Would you prefer me in your raggedy-ass sweats?”

The truth was that Gerard's raggedy-ass sweats would probably be more comfortable than what he is wearing now, but there is something profoundly _awesome_ about being able to wear his own clothes. In his own home. With Gerard. He can't help the smile that appears on his face as Gerard presses his slightly chapped lips to his forehead. “I prefer you always,” he tells him before turning back to the strange concoction on the bench. Without thinking, Frank is grabbing the taller man, spinning his around and crashing his lips hard into him. He presses his smaller frame against him, backing him against the bench as if the force of it will somehow allow them to join together rather than just knock the air from their lungs. His mouth moves quickly and firmly against Gerard's, his tongue pressing its way in. His hands are fisted in Gerard's loose shirt and he can hear a small whimpered moan accidentally slip from his own throat.

“Hey,” Gerard mumbles against his lips. “Hey, calm down, Frankie, I'm not going anywhere.”

He pulls back, attempting to regain his breath and reluctantly lets Gerard's shirt go, smoothing down the fabric. “I know that,” he murmurs in response before drawing in a slightly shaky breath and taking a step back. Gerard's strong hands immediately grab his shoulders and not for the first time he thinks how those hands look like they should be dedicated to a life of piano and art.

“What's going on?” he asks him, his eyes searching Frank's face for clues. “What’s the matter?”

“I think I need to hire us another house cleaner, seriously, Gee…” he replies, trying to distract his gaze and the conversation. “It's like you have used everything in the kitchen for putting paint on with or mixing paint with.”

Gerard rolls his eyes at him and tells him that it was fine, that he had been working flat out and had just lost track of it. His hands remain on Frank's shoulders and he is confused because he wants to either brush them off or lean into Gerard's warm embrace. Instead he just shakes his head in disbelief. “You lost track and used the good china to mix your green thermo-reactive paints in?” he doesn't really care though.

Gerard's hazel brown eyes widen. “…We had good china?” he asks, confused. Frank takes the opportunity to slip out of his hold and gestures to the table at the ruined mess of dishes clustered there. “Oh…” is all Gerard replies before smiling innocently at him.

He cannot help but let the laughter burst from his chest; his head tips back and he laughs harder. Nothing has changed. Nothing has been destroyed. He is fine. They are fine. He laughs until there are tears in his eyes and the coughs begin. When he eventually meets Gerard's eyes again he is met with an expression that is a mix of confusion and happiness on Gerard's face. “Make me some damned food, Gee,” he tells him, moving a stack of magazines and old newspapers off one of the chairs so he can collapse into it, suddenly exhausted. “And I'm serious about the house cleaner, you can't fire this one because they throw out the containers of broken eggshells pieces, okay?”

“I needed those though!” Gerard replies defensively, glancing over his shoulder to the young man currently sprawled in their kitchen, prodding at things on the table. “I had to eat five omelets to make up for that!”

Frank giggles at the memory of it. “You mean you made _me_ eat five omelets.”

“And I love you for you're dedication to art,” Gerard replies, waving a knife in the air.

“More like your dedication to making me suffer,” Frank half mutters under his breath before inquiring as to what the hell Gerard is making.

“Hey now,” Gerard replies, playfully defensive, before remembering what he was doing and turns his attention back to the bench. “It's cranberry salad.”

“…Why?” Frank asks, slightly concerned, not that he usually minds, but right now he would probably rather a bagel and a cup of coffee. “Is there no food in the house again?”

Gerard continues to add something into a bowl Frank hopes is clean. “No, I just need to, you know, take a bit better care of myself I think.”

Frank cannot help the laughter that slips out. “ _Really_?” he giggles, clutching at the table for support. “Are you having a mid life crisis on me?” Seriously…? Gerard, on a health kick, making them _salads_? No way. He had to be dreaming.

Gerard turns to him, trying his best to look annoyed. “Why is that funny? And no, I'm not.”

More giggles erupt from Frank, who exclaims that Gerard has probably already brought a convertible chevy in a cherry bomb red. Gerard smirks and jokingly tells him that it is blood red with the number plate _KNIVES_ before adding playfully, “Shut up, I'm just… I turned thirty nine last week and…”

Frank's face falls suddenly. “I missed your birthday?” he exclaims, disappointed. He has yet to actually be there for one of Gerard's birthdays, or Christmas, or New Years for that matter. He hopes that one day his luck will change.

“No, baby,” Gerard tells him, leaning against the bench, forgetting all about the food. “You were there. It was the best,” he grins at the memory of the _present_ Frank had given him. Frank is relieved and sighs as he sits back properly in the chair again. “You have been here a lot the last few weeks, younger and older. Two days ago you were so much younger,” he laughs. “You were practically a virgin you were so young! I felt pretty old for the first time after that.”

Frank raises an eyebrow, smirking. “What do you mean _practically a virgin_?” Gerard turns back to the food as the words start to make sense. “Oh… Huh, Gee? Were you wearing a black shirt and some sort of scarf?”

Gerard gives a small laugh. “Way to narrow it down, but yes, I was, I think.” Frank's heart beats hard against his chest as his eye widen. Oh no… “You remember?” Gerard asks, turning around, curious.

“You… you were not nice,” Frank stammers out as the words stick to his throat at the memory of it.

“I didn't mean to!” Gerard exclaims, managing not to laugh, dropping the knife and coming closer to where Frank is now pacing around the room.

“How could I forget?! I come to in some random place I have _never_ been before and some guy who I have _never met_ before, picks me up off the floor and kisses me… and… and there were hands…!” He rubs the back of his neck. He supposes that there could have been worse ways to be introduced to Gerard, but it was still pretty traumatic for him back then.

“The you who usually comes had been gone a for a few weeks! I missed you! I didn't realize you didn't know! I'm sorry!” Gerard exclaims, still trying to hold back laughter.

“It was pretty bad, Gee,” he tells him, coming a halt in front of him, laughing a little himself as his arms snake their way around Gerard's waist.

“I'm sorry” Gerard apologizes again. “But we turned out good though!” he says the last part with a hopeful grin decorating his face.

“Especially after you made me sit down and told me that you and I were an _us_.”

“Okay!” Gerard exclaims, holding up a hand, the other still splayed up the back of Frank's shirt. “It's not my fault that when you come from, everyone was homophobic!”

“ _I_ was homophobic!” Frank cries, cringing at the memory of that horribly awkward conversation where Gerard had explained to him the whole _relationship_ between them. He had not believed him. He had a wife, he liked _fucking_ his wife. He liked fucking _girls_.

After that, Gerard had been a bit nicer about things; letting him just hang out. They watched a lot of movies, drank a lot of coffee and Gerard had even slept on the couch. Gerard very quickly became his friend… and something more, something deeper that had confused him. But he liked hanging out with him, listening to music, getting into heated discussions about the mechanics of zombies and the latest Batman comics and movies. He liked watching Gerard paint, the way his face became animated and _alive_. Of course he'd just look over the top of whatever he was reading, trying to be sneaky and blushing vividly when Gerard would catch him and laugh before gesturing for him to come over and have a proper look at what he was doing.

He stopped thinking about Jamia when he was with Gerard. He stopped worrying about his dad and mom. He drank coffee and smoked cigarettes and made them grilled cheese sandwiches. At one point Gerard had handed him a stack of well-kept vintage comics one afternoon. It had been fall and the trees outside of the apartment were rusting and bleeding into the gutters. He couldn't believe what he was seeing. Gerard shifted, slightly uncomfortable, rubbing his nose. “If you don't–” he started to tell him before Frank’s arms were suddenly around his neck and he was jumping onto him, pressing a quick, enthusiastic kiss to his lips. His eyes flew open then and he stumbled back away from Gerard who was looking… hopeful?

“I. Uh… Thanks! Seriously Gee, these are amazing,” he had stumbled over his words awkwardly, blushing. Later he had chastised himself, seriously, what the hell was he thinking? At least Gerard had, thankfully, all but ignored what had happened.

He found himself being touchier after that though, as if it was allowed. He had never been one to keep his hands to himself and hated to feel constrained. He began to catch himself thinking how smooth the skin on Gerard's neck was and what it would feel like to kiss it. He liked the way Gerard smiled at him and called him _Frankie_. He liked the way Gerard was so _warm_ and the way he smelled like coffee, cigarettes and paint. He also began to catch himself thinking of Gerard as he passed the time in an unfamiliar time and place; jerking off in public bathrooms. He tried to brush the thoughts away but it was often the thought of Gerard pressed against him on the sofa, thigh brushing against his own that sent him over the edge, gasping and panting and coming with one hand bracing himself against the wall. He was troubled, everything he had ever been taught has told him that it was _wrong_. No reasons, just _wrong_. But it doesn't feel like that when Frank was with him. He knew that in the time he is with him, it is more acceptable and is in fact, encouraged in some cases. Something about being true to yourself. It tugged at him when he was not with him and felt an aching loneliness that was hard to understand and even harder to explain.

He tried to distract himself when he spent time with Jamia and with his younger self. He was conflicted and it sometimes felt like he was unraveling.

Gerard told him they were going to watch a movie one night and he did not protest. He always enjoyed watching movies with Gerard and watching Gerard watch movies out of the corner of his eye. Gerard had put _Back To The Future_ on and turned the light off, drawing a blanket over their legs because the heating was broken yet again. He was shivering. He remembers Gerard lifting his arm and Frank snuggled in without thinking; Gerard was so warm against him, and he could not help his head from leaning against the older man's chest, his legs tucked up next to him. He only just remembered to breathe. He could feel Gerard's breath on him when he laughs or makes irrelevant comments about Star Wars. He liked it and knew that it should feel wrong, but…

“So… you and me? We…?” he had begun talking without meaning to and it made no sense.

Gerard shrugged against him though. “Yeah,” he replied softly, as though it was not a big deal. Which it was, to him at least.

“I… you, like… what is…?” he continued to ask half questions and only get frustrated at himself. He felt Gerard turn slightly to face him, asking him what he was on about, using just his eyebrows. He fidgeted and moved. He knew what he wanted to do, what he had wanted to do for a few weeks now. “Maybe… I, ah…” he tried and failed to articulate what he wanted.

Gerard pulled away in that moment. “Hey, it's okay. We can just keep hanging out if you want. That's okay with me.”

He had then sat up, ignoring the movie that he was usually unable to tear his eyes from. His heart was beating painfully and his voice caught in his throat as he leaned forward slightly, murmuring, “Well, no, that's not… um…” He could see Gerard swallow and very gently lift a hand shakily to his face. His touch was hot and sent a violent wave of tingles down into his stomach. His hand slipped behind Frank’s neck, gently moving him closer. He had closed his eyes and gently pressed his lips to Gerard's. They were warm, like the rest of him, smooth and yielding beneath his own. It was unlike anything he had ever experienced and he found himself slowly tilting his head. His breathing came quickly and shakily, the same as Gerard's. It did not feel wrong or unnatural. It felt dizzyingly right and as natural as breathing. Gerard pressed his lips back against him and he shuddered at the taste of him, sweet and somehow familiar. He pulled back slowly, his hands still pressed against Gerard's chest that rose and fell with him. “Gee…” he breathed before he pressing his lips back against Gerard's again, but this time there was no hesitation, no waiting as the stars exploded behind his eyes. He had kissed people before, but _nothing_ had been close to this. Nothing.

“I know,” Gerard tells him, snapping him out of the memory. “It was kinda adorable. You're the only one who could manage that.”

“What?” Frank replies with a giggle, poking Gerard in the ribs and chasing away the thoughts. “Be completely straight and lure you in? You're a bad man, Gee, telling innocent boys such things, kissing them like that, giving them comic books and colored movies.”

“Well, that too. But being adorable about being a homophobe. Those two don't usually go together. Besides, I didn't do anything to you that you didn't do to me. But all points aside: salad,” he says, grabbing a Tupperware bowl off the bench with a fork in it. “Eat.”

He takes the bowl and tries his best not to laugh. He stabs some of it and puts it in his mouth, turning his head quickly so that Gerard does not see the grimace on his face. He swallows as quickly as he can but it threatens to come back up again. “Gee… what is this?” he asks when he can trust himself to speak as Gerard takes his own mouthful, his face instantly falling and turning to one of disgust.

“Oh, God… that's not right,” he says, swallowing with difficulty.

“I'm sorry,” Frank offers, trying not to laugh.

“Don't be… there is something wrong with this.”

“I don't even think a goat would find this edible, Gee,” he tells him, a small laugh slipping out.

Gerard attempts to look defensive, “Hey now, yeah, I dunno what happened,” he murmurs, stabbing his fork around his own bowl.

“I mean…” Franks goes on, laughing harder. “It could have something to do with the completely wilted lettuce? Or maybe something that may have once been called a tomato?”

Gerard digs around in his bowl some more, pulling a face. “The cranberries are good. They were straight out of the packet,” he stabs a cranberry with his fork and puts it into his mouth before spitting it out back into the bowl. “Bad dressing,” he mutters.

“Oh God, Gee… seriously, what even _is_ that?” Frank gasps with laughter.

“Ugh, I'm sorry, Frank,” he apologizes again as Frank collapses into another fit of laughter again.

“It's fine,” he gasps, abandoning his bowl in the sink. “Let's just get take out and drink coffee, okay? It's not that I don't appreciate the effort, I really do, but God…” he shakes his head. Gerard agrees, tossing his bowl in to join Frank's and pouting at his own failed attempt.

Frank opens the fridge as Gerard starts the coffee machine. Thankfully there is milk that isn't past the expiry date. Gerard mumbles something about it having to be _healthy_ take out and Frank mutters back that there is plenty money in his top draw if he needs it.

“I can get it, Frank,” Gerard tells him, digging out two mugs and washing them. “I've been selling a few more pieces.”

Frank grins widely, closing the fridge door with the milk cartoon clasped in his hands. “See? Didn't I tell you that you are amazing? I'm so proud of you,” he gushes. It is the truth and it fills him with warmth.

Gerard grins back at him, explaining that he has had two gallery showings already this year and sold eight paintings and, blushing, he adds, “You did, I didn't believe you.”

“And I'm telling you again, you're amazing. Seriously? Two gallery showings?” Frank replies, handing over the milk, unable to keep the dimples in his cheeks from appearing. Gerard nods and pours two mugs of coffee, balancing the milk on top of the blender. Seizing the opportunity, Frank grabs his unoccupied hands, squeezing and swinging them slightly. “Baby, you are moving up in this world faster than I can keep up,” he says before kissing him sweetly. Gerard is still smiling, and can't help but feel a little proud when they separate. “I only wish I was there for them,” Frank remarks with a shrug.

“You are,” he tells him and watches the grin suddenly return, brighter than ever. “Well, you arrive part way through one, but you make the whole night of the other one,” he explains, blushing at the memory of the when Frank arrived half way through, especially what happened _after_ the exhibition.

“Good to know I'm there for you,” Frank replies, before his smile falters somewhat as he remembers that while he is here, enjoying this time with an older Gerard, he is not there with the Gerard who needs him the most. The Gerard he promised he would look after.

“You always are,” The older man replies before noticing the change of expression on his lovers face. “Hey, did… did I say something wrong?”

Frank shakes his head, dropping their hands. “No, no, not at all,” he tries to reassure him, lying through his teeth as he does so. Gerard gently brings his hand up, gently stroking down the left side of his face. “What's wrong?” he presses softly.

“I'm fine, just, you know, the usual,” Frank replies, trying to shrug it off and not lean into his touch.

“You're not fine,” he states. “I know you. Where were you, Frankie?”

He takes a deep breath before saying, “I was with you, it's… difficult,” as Gerard's hand drifts down to his shoulder.

“Okay…” he replies, his tone one of worry. “When?”

“I wasn't sure we would even have this anymore,” Frank replies, squeezing his eyes shut. It was more than not being sure, it was closer to be damned scared and almost convinced of it being gone.

“What? You can't change what happens Frank, you know that – or, you will, you do now. No matter what happens, we become this,” Gerard reassures him, bringing his hand up once more to his face and tracing his thumb over Frank's full bottom lip.

He shudders slightly under the touch whispering, “Thank God.”

“What happened Frank?” he asks.

“You've been detoxing, and I've just seen you as a teenager, when it all starts, I guess,” Frank replies softly, glancing at the floor.

“Oh,” is all Gerard can say as the distant memories rush back to him. “It's not a time I like to remember,” he says with a shake of head before gently tilting Frank's face up to meet his eyes. “But its okay baby, I get clean. I don't let that shit rule my life. Shit, I won't even take NyQuil now.”

Frank gives a small sad laugh. “It's good to know you're okay, that we're okay,” and for once he tries to believe it. He desperately wants to. He desperately needs to.

“We are perfect. I'm fine,” Gerard tells him, trying to smile reassuringly.

“Good, cause I feel like shit for leaving you and coming here,” he lets out. “Shit! Not that seeing you is a bad thing! Fuck!” He rubs the back of his neck in frustration. Gerard gently caresses down his arm, telling him that he was never gone for long, that he remembers that. “Really?” he replies, hopeful.

Gerard nods, his hand curling around Frank's waist. “Make me go back to art school. I didn't have a lot more to do and I've needed that degree. Just… just make sure I stop. I remember not wanting to, fighting it.” Frank agrees and asks if there is anything else he should do to make it easier or to convince him, bringing his hand up to Gerard's face, feeling the soft stubble under his fingers and the heat of his skin. Gerard smiles at him. “Just be there. Be you. There's not a lot else you can do to be honest. Just be there.”

Frank leans forward suddenly, pressing his lips needfully to Gerard's, his lips open and inviting. He pulls back eventually, dropping his head to rest on his shoulder as Gerard's arms hold him tight against him. “It just hurts so much,” he admits. “And I feel like I can't do anything right.”

“I know,” Gerard replies softly, “God, do I know! But you have to keep trying. It's hard, but I need you to do that.”

Frank meets his eyes again, looking sincere for once. “Anything for you… except maybe that salad.”

Gerard's smile turns to a fake scowl at the salad comment before Frank is up on his tip toes, pressing him back against the bench, his hands entangling themselves in his hair and his mouth moving against his own. Their breathing becomes erratic as they cling to each other, Frank's hands already busying themselves working into Gerard's waistband. Gerard moans into the kiss and gently tugs them back up again, feeling Frank shaking under his grasp.

Frank gasps slightly, pulling away. “Don't worry about food… I'm not going to be here for too much longer,” he admits sadly.

“Salad so bad it makes a person time travel?” Gerard replies with a smirk before hugging his small, shaking frame closer to him, feeling the familiar acceleration of his heart as he fades.

*

Frank knew that this would be difficult, going back to a younger Gerard. He knew about the pain, the nausea, the exhaustion. He didn’t realize so much of that would happen to him and that the mood swings would come and go so suddenly. He has no idea what he’s doing, and he has been sworn to secrecy about the cocaine, even though Gerard let him tell Mikey about the extent of the alcoholism. Not his parents, though. They knew he had been drinking, obviously – Frank probably couldn’t tell them anything about the drinking they didn’t already know – but he’d promised Gerard anyway. All three Ways are in and out at all hours of the day and night, from sticking their heads in the door to check if their son – or brother, in Mikey’s case – is sleeping yet, even though he never is, to helping Frank hold him down when he thrashes violently and screams incoherent thoughts at them. Frank just wants Gerard to get better.

“Can I get you anything?” He asks the quivering ball of Gerard on the bed, needing something to do, some way for him to help get the man he loves through this. “I could make coffee?”

“I’m fine, Frank,” the ball mumbles. “I told you that.”

Frank leans forward, touching his fingers to Gerard’s back and feels him flinch violently before stuttering out an apology that Frank shrugs off due to the fragile state the man has been in for three days. “Are you sure?” He just wants to be of some _use_. “It’s no trouble.”

“Just –” Gerard cuts him off aggressively. “Just stop, okay?”

It’s Frank’s turn to flinch. “Stop what? I’m not doing anything. Fuck.”

Gerard’s head tips back just enough that his voice is no longer muffled by his arm or the blankets scrunched up in front of him. “I get that you care and shit, but what the _hell_?”

“Gee…”

“It’s not like a damn sandwich is going to make this go away!”

“I know that,” Frank starts, not wanting Gerard to get mad again but scared that it is too late. His suspicions are proved when he gets cut off again.

“Then why are you even here?” Gerard demands. “You can’t do shit!”

“I’m here,” He says with a tone he hopes is finality. “Deal with it.”

He starts to move around the room, shifting things and tidying the clothes that Gerard has thrown around the room. Hopefully bringing a little order to the chaos will help both of them calm down somewhat. But the moment he picks up Gerard’s worn and faded hoodie and tosses it to the washing basket, noticing it has a smear of vomit on it, the ball on the bed is glaring at him and making yelling noises.

“Just stop it!” He cries out, sounding truly aggravated even though he wasn’t even looking at Frank before. “Just… Shit, I bet _she_ likes you folding her fucking clothes and treating her like a fucking invalid. Why don’t you go to her?” And he curls up tighter, ready to spit the venom but not to deal with the aftermath.

But his words hang in the air around them and Frank recoils, gaping at him. “Fuck off, Gee,” he says darkly, voice flat. “Don’t say shit like that. And you know I barely see her anymore; that we’re not together anymore.” He doesn’t want to fight, especially not about this. He has experienced this way too often for his liking and wishes it would stop coming up.

“It’s not like you couldn’t see her if you tried,” comes the bitter mumbled voice.

“I don’t want to see her!” Frank cries out, exasperated.

“She’s your wife!”

“Not for long! Fuck!” Frank yells, hunting for his cigarettes, trying to bring himself back, to not take Gerard’s bait when he’s angry and being an asshole.

“What?” Gerard asks, looking up, the venom thick in his voice again. “You think she’s gone? She’s alive, Frank. Right now.”

Frank swallows hard. The reality is that it is true and makes him feel even more like the biggest dick in the world. “Stop it,” he replies, knowing he just sounds hurt and beaten, and hating himself for it. “Just stop.”

“Why?” Gerard asks. He’s pulled himself up a little, still curled in on himself but sitting now instead of lying on his side. “Think it’ll make you leave when poor little Gerard _needs_ you?”

Frank clenches his jaw. “No,” he says. “Did you look up her new _husband_? I told you I have nothing more to do with her in less than a year.”

“A year…” Gerard laughs horribly again to himself. “Jesus, fuck, what am I even doing?’ He looks back to Frank. “I’m your fucking _affair_! Your dirty fucking secret!”

“You’re not!” Frank yells back. He knows Gerard already understands all of this, he’s explained it to him before, but hearing it like this makes something inside him snap. “She knew about you! She knew where I went! She knew I don’t stay with her!”

“Oh and I bet she was fucking _thrilled_ as fuck about that,” Gerard spits. “That why you’re not together now?”

“Shut up! You have no idea what it was like! We’re not together because I called it off!” But Gerard is not listening to him anymore.

“She find out about the little artist boy you went to fuck and left you?”

“It’s not like that, Gerard!”

“Or did you leave to make it _easier_ for her? Like you offered to do for me? What person in their right mind stays with someone when they know they are just the someone else?”

“I didn’t know!” Angry tears threaten to fall down his face as his voice continues to rise and he looks at the ceiling to stop them. “Not at first!” Frank is tired and really, really cannot deal with this. Not now, not like this on too little sleep and food. When he looks back over, the shaking body is talking to himself. “I tried to make it alone… Fuck I tried…”

“And look where that got you,” he knows it’s harsh but he doesn’t care anymore.

“Fuck you!” Gerard glares at him, a look Frank didn’t know he was capable of giving. “You’re gonna give me shit for this?” He demands, his voice beginning to rise to match Frank’s. “You did this!”

Frank makes himself not flinch and stagger back, because he knows. He _knows_. “I fucking know I did this! I fucking know I drove you to this!”

“You didn’t fucking come back!”

“I tried!”

“I needed you!” They’re not entirely the words Frank expected to hear, but he’s too angry right now and he opens his mouth to reply when Gerard’s next words fall on his ears. “She’s dead and you weren’t here!”

Frank stills. He doesn’t understand and it cages his anger at least for the time being. “Who’s dead?” he asks quietly, but he already knows the answer. Fuck. Elena. Of course. Of all times for it to happen it was now. Gerard had needed him so much more than he’d ever expected and all he’d done was run away.

The younger man just squeezes his arms tighter around his legs, making himself as small as possible on the bed and rocking as he shook. “I needed you to be here!” he cries out, as though Frank is still shouting back at him. “Mikey couldn’t find you either! You were gone! I didn’t know what to do,” he sounds frantic and out of control, speaking fast and gasping hard against the sobs, and Frank isn’t sure if going over to him is the best idea yet. “And now she’s gone and I can’t even tell her I’m sorry I wasn’t there. I was too fucking wasted.”

That’s it. Frank walks over to him quickly and grasps his shoulders, shaking him gently until he looks up at him, eyes bloodshot and dulled with drugs and pain. “Gee, tell me.”

Gerard’s eyebrows furrow together and he glares, but this time Frank knows the disgust is directed at himself, not Frank. “Too fucking wasted to be at my own grandmother’s deathbed.”

Frank swears and stares at the blank eyes in front of him that seem to be looking back, but he isn’t sure if they’re seeing anything. “God, Gee, I’m sorry, I’m so fucking sorry.”

“She’s gone!”

“I… I had no idea… I’m sorry,” he leans forward to hug the shaking mess of his boyfriend, but only feels him tense even more in his hands.

“Get off,” he says flatly. Frank steps back immediately, not wanting to push him now that he might be able to calm down at least a little. “You don’t get to be here for that now. You were gone.”

Gerard doesn’t really stop speaking and Frank’s not even sure he’s specifically talking to him anymore or just speaking so that the words are outside of his head for the first time. So he just quietly says, “I know. I tried to get back, I honestly did,” when Gerard stops to breathe.

“Why?” He asks, surprising Frank a little. Maybe he was listening?

“I missed you,” he replies, Gerard must know that, surely. “I… I was a mess.”

“Why were you gone?”

Frank stops, confused. “You told me to leave,” he says slowly.

“Why do you always have to go?” His voice sounds weak, Frank notices suddenly, weaker than it had less than a minute ago.

He shrugs. “I can’t help it. I wish I didn’t,” he sighs. “At the moment I wish I never traveled in the first place.”

Gerard finally stops talking for a moment. His eyes close and his face crumples. “You… You wish you’d never met me.” It’s a statement, not a question, and Frank can hardly believe the words have come out of his mouth.

“No! I didn’t say that!”

“Okay…” Gerard says, like he’s figuring everything out all of a sudden. Frank doesn’t like the conclusions he’s coming to. “It’s… It’s okay… I get it.”

“Don’t say shit like that, Gee,” Frank almost begs, his hands balling into fists. “Don’t do this. You know you’re the most important thing in my life.”

“No one else ever… So why would you?” Gerard nods slowly into his knees. “It makes sense. I get it.”

“Shut up,” Frank demands, then softens his voice again. “It’s not the truth and you know it.” Gerard starts shaking his head then, face still pressed between his knees. He might be calm now, but Frank has no idea how long it will last. “We both know I would give _anything_ to be normal in your time line, to not have to leave you.”

Gerard slowly falls back onto his side again, his body shaking harder than Frank had seen in the entire detox course so far. “I know,” he whispers so quietly that Frank has to strain to hear it. He looks around for his lighter then, muttering about going out for a smoke so Gerard can calm down now that it looks possible. He adds instruction for him not to do anything stupid. Gerard stutters out a short “Okay,” and Frank is shocked enough by his compliance that his mouth opens without his permission as he scrapes up the orange lighter.

“What?” He asks, wishing he could stop himself. “No witty comeback about how I’m always leaving you?”

“If you wanna go,” Gerard’s voice is weak. “I can’t stop you.”

Frank throws his head back and the lighter to the floor. “I. Don’t. Want. To. Go,” he grits out.

“Sure you don’t,” the voice drips with sarcasm despite it’s low volume.

“Shut up, Gee. I get that you’re agitated and stuff, but stop baiting me, stop looking for a fight.”

“Me? Baiting you?” That horrible laugh again. Frank shudders at the sound. “You’re the guy who’s here one minute then gone the next.”

He presses the heel of his hand to his eye and winces. “Can you stop bringing that up? It’s not the issue.”

“Not the–? Are you fucking kidding me?” His voice is suddenly hard again and Frank can’t look at him when he shudders and twitches and rolls towards the edge of the bed.

“I thought we were passed the whole _blame Frank cause he time travels_ thing?” He mutters.

Gerard finally looks up at him. “You think _that’s_ what it is?” He scrambles again, swinging his legs off the bed like he’s going to get up, but his limbs seem to get tangled up in nothing and he falls to the floor, swearing.

Frank rushes to him for a moment before stopping himself, he was about to ask what it is then, but despite being as pissed off as he is, something in his brain screams concern for the man crumpled and quivering on the floor.

“You okay?” He asks cautiously, shuffling a little closer and offering a hand. But Gerard stays on the floor, doesn’t even look at him. Frank sighs softly and crouches down to take his shoulders. “Come on,” he says and starts to drag him up, manhandling Gerard until he stands, a little shakily, upright.

He finally looks Frank in the eye again, the anger is still there and it hurts Frank so much to know it’s directed at him, drug detoxing or not. “You don’t know what it’s like when you’re not here,” he spits venomously. “You don’t know what it’s like to wait for you when you leave and I don’t know when you’re coming back, if you ever will.”

Frank stops. Gerard is right; he doesn’t know what it’s like to be the one left behind. He’s traveled to places where he is alone before, but most of the time he is with either Gerard or Jamia. “If it’s so much of an issue,” he begins slowly. “I’ll go.”

It obviously wasn’t the right thing to say, because Gerard’s eyes flare with rage again and he angrily stumbles over his words. “You – what?” He cries. “I… You fucking what?”

Frank doesn’t know how to backpedal out of this, so he shrugs instead. “It’s clearly something you struggle with…”

Suddenly, Gerard is pushing Frank back, not hard enough to make him fall, just to make him take two steps back. His arms flail madly and Frank knows he is beyond reason again. He braces himself; this is when Gerard gets nasty, he knows.

“You can’t let me fucking _rot_ here!” he yells, pushing him again, and Frank is suddenly glad for once that the rest of the Way family are not here to witness this. They couldn’t really help right now anyway. “You can’t leave me alone while everyone around me dies!” Shove. “Fuck! That’s what you want, isn’t it?” Shove.

Things quickly escalate and Frank finds himself physically defending himself against Gerard. Finally the moment seems to pass and the younger man slips down to the floor, defeated and broken. “What am I doing?” he asks.

“Being an asshole,” Frank snaps, but he’s seeing Gerard properly again now; scared, exhausted, repentant, and needing him more than either of them really know.

“What’s wrong with me?”

Frank draws in a breath, composing himself, and slowly edging back to Gerard. He reaches out and touches his knee, saddened somewhat further by the flinch he feels. After a beat he grabs Gerard’s shoulders tightly instead of hugging him so that he can make eye contact. “You’ll get better,” he says and watches as Gerard appears to finally look at him instead of through him. “It’s just gonna be really rough for a few days.”

Gerard is shaking his head. “It’s too hard… but I don’t wanna go to rehab.”

Frank leans forward and kisses him again. “Not unless it gets really bad,” he reassures gently. “I promise. You can do this.”

The denying shake of Gerard’s head scares him somewhat, like maybe this doesn’t mean as much to him anymore. All he can hope is that Gerard is talking about rehab, not getting clean. “Please don’t make me,” he says and Frank tilts his head up and looks him in the eye.

“Do you still want to get clean?” He asks.

“I can do this,” Gerard declares, bringing that hope to light. “I swear. I promise. I promise I can do this without rehab.”

“I know you can,” he rubs his thumb softly against his jaw. “But answer my question: do you want to get clean?” He knows that it won’t work if he doesn’t want it for himself. Wanting to get clean for Frank or his family is a good start, but without wanting it for himself too, Gerard would fight it all the way, maybe without even realizing it.

But his answer is quick enough and determined enough to calm Frank’s fears, if only a little. “Yes!” he says. “Of course!” and Frank nods, watching Gerard’s face twist a little with the guilt of letting himself get this far.

“You know where I went to quickly yesterday?” he asks and watches Gerard look at him questioningly. It’s not something he would usually talk about, or he would try not to, but if anything can help right now… “I was with you, older you.”

Gerard stops moving. “You were?” he asks slowly. “Was… Was I…? Were we…?”

He doesn’t need to finish his questions, Frank already expected them all. “We’re fine,” he assures him and watches the eyes in front of him go wide. “You told me to be here for you, and to make you go back to art school. You don’t drink again.”

Gerard blinks. “I said that?”

Frank nods. “You said you’ve needed the degree. You’re fine, better than fine; you’re happy.”

The smile on Gerard’s face is so hopeful and fragile that Frank doesn’t quite know how to respond. “I want that…” Gerard whispers quietly.

“In our messy apartment.”

“And you’re with me?”

He nods again. “I said _our_ apartment; we live together.”

When Gerard looks up at him again, smile tugging his lips, Frank is so on edge he’s about to crawl out of his skin. Everything he wants to do is a bad idea right now and he knows it; the last thing Gerard needs now is to be pressed into the wall and teased and fucked into understanding. So Frank just gulps and lets him speak, figure things out in his own time. “I have you,” he says like he barely believes it. “And I’m painting again?”

“Yes,” Frank laughs and gives an exasperated sigh. “And using every dish in the house to mix paint in. You’re doing well. Better than that; you’re doing great.”

Gerard actually laughs a tiny bit then. “And I’m clean and sober? That means I can do this.”

Frank grins, remembering the mess that is their apartment when Gerard is left to himself for more than a week. He laughs. “Sober: yes. Clean is debatable.” He’s a little caught up in the thought to notice the smile fall off Gerard’s lips. “Just let me hire a housecleaner, Gee. You say it’s an organized mess but I don’t even know how you find clothes to get dressed in the morning.”

“What?” Gerard asks, completely lost.

Frank grins down at him then notices the look on his face. “Oh!” he realizes with shock. “No, Gee, no you won’t even take NyQuil!” He touches down Gerard’s cheekbone gently. “You’re sober, clean, and successful.”

“Fuck! Don’t scare me like that! I thought you meant…”

He shakes his head emphatically with an apologetic lopsided smile. “Sorry,” he offers.

Gerard leans forward a little and nods slightly. His movements are so small that Frank still doesn’t quite know what to do, the uncertainty in the air quelling his reactions. Still, he closes the space slowly and presses his lips against Gerard’s; using the lightest pressure he can manage, not wanting to scare him.

He doesn’t expect hands to fly up to the back of his neck and rake up into his hair, pulling him closer and almost off balance. “Woah! Gee, it’s okay!” he gasps and breaks away only to hold onto him tightly, press a soft kiss to his cheek and feel a slight dampness on his shoulder where Gerard’s face is pressed.

“I’m sorry, Frank,” he mumbles into the t-shirt and clinging hard to him. “I should never have done any of this.”

“You were upset,” Frank soothes. “And you had every right to be.”

“A lot of people are upset. They don’t do the things I did,” he looks up at Frank again then, eyes squinting a little and creasing at the edges.

They finally head upstairs for fresh air and cigarettes. Frank thinks this is a winning combination. Silence wraps around them as they both retreat to their own thoughts in a haze of smoke. It is only when they return back downstairs with mugs of hot coffee that he blurts out, “I don’t know how to help you and it’s killing me. You told me just to be here for you, but it doesn’t feel like enough.”

“You can’t make this go away for me, Frankie,” Gerard whispers, clambering beside him back on the bed. “But you being here, it makes it… Not so heavy? I guess?”

Frank nods and kisses his head. “Glad I’m actually helping with something.”

You’ll, ah,” Gerard starts. “You’re gonna be here, right? If you can be?”

“Of course,” Frank says. “There isn’t anywhere else I’d rather be.” He knows it sounds lame but he doesn’t care.

Gerard sucks in a deep breath. “I know you keep telling me that, I just feel like you’re going to disappear or something. Not even about the traveling, I don’t think. Maybe… I don’t deserve you?”

“Shut up,” Frank says, lighter than he thought he would be able to manage. “That is entirely the wrong way around.”

“I’m a mess, Frankie.”

Frank just shakes his head. “I still love you, that’s all that matters.”

They sit, curled up in silence, for a long time before Frank’s bladder decides it’s feeling left out. He gently settles the shaking man onto the pillows and shuffles out, down the hall and into the bathroom. He quickly relieves himself but presses his forehead to the cold mirror for a long moment, breathing steadily, steeling himself for whatever might come next. He doesn’t know what the fuck he’s doing. How the fuck is he supposed to do this? He scrambles through the draw for something to soothe his headache, only coming up with the aspirin once half the contents of the draw fall loudly to the tiled floor. He downs two, dry, and turns to face what will be another few days of continued fights.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies on the lateness of this update. Halequinne and I were making a killjoys comic to hopefully win and meet & greet with MCR. Fingers crossed!  
> (You can check out the comic [here](http://archiveofourown.org/works/319140))
> 
> Thank you to everyone that has read so far and as always comments etc are appreciated :)


	9. Division IX

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Where are you taking me?” he demands before tripping again and grumbling.
> 
> “To sell your organs,” Frank replies cheerfully.
> 
> Gerard pretends to be outraged. “Frank! Don't even mess with me about that! We live in fucking Jersey!”

The leaves are dry and crunchy under his body as he struggles to his feet, coughing hard. His head spins as he fights to catch his breath once more. It is early morning. The sky is clear and cloudless above him. Hedges, tall and shadowy, surround the yard he finds himself in, and he scrambles towards the neighboring house on the left. After a few minutes of sitting cramped in the bushes, watching and waiting in case he spots movement within, he finally makes a move to the clothes line. He snags a shirt and a pair of jeans and quickly retreats to the bushes to pull them on. When he leaves the house a smile creeps across his face. The house has a _To let_ sign out the front and it is instantly familiar. It will be theirs soon. For the first time in a very long time he feels things will work out. He walks into town, mugging a kid on the way to steal his shoes and cellphone. The shoes are slightly too big and rub his ankles raw.

He withdraws a large sum from the bank, unsure how much it will take to secure the two bedroom house. He abandons the shoes soon after leaving the bank and walks to the Way house in a more optimistic mood than he has had in what feels like months. He contemplates using the front door but decides against it. He knocks before pulling the window open despite the loud blare of music from within it. He slips easily in, landing on the conveniently located bed with a soft thud.

Mrs. Way looks up at him oddly, turning the stereo down. “You could've used the front door, Frank,” she states with a smile before gesturing with her head up the stairs. “Gerard is in Mikey's room.”

“Oh,” Frank replies, getting off the bed with an awkward grin. Donna is looking at him strangely and he looks down and realizes that he is wearing a t-shirt proclaiming, _Straight and Proud!_ accompanied by an image of interlinking male and female signs. He groans out loud before slipping past her. He contemplates removing the t-shirt before knocking on Mikey's door but the door is already open and Gerard turns at the sound of his bare footsteps on the hall.

“Hey!” he says with a grin, waving.

“What the fuck are you wearing?” Gerard asks him as he sits on the floor beside him.

“Beggars can't be choosers,” he explains with a shrug. “Plus your mom is in your room and I didn't really think it would go down too well if I just started tugging off my shirt to steal one of yours.” He glances over to Mikey. “Can I borrow one of yours please, Mikey? This needs to be burned.”

Mikey shrugs and gets off his bed, grabbing a t-shirt from his drawer. Frank thanks him, tugging the offensive one off. Straight and proud! Fuck, seriously? He tugs on the new one. Great, unicorns. It is an improvement however. At least now Gerard is actually looking him in the eye. Frank looks back at him and contemplates leaning over and roughly kissing him. He is looking so much better, more alert and alive, like he's actually slept at some point. He resists the urge and picks up one of the CDs on the floor instead, examining it. There is silence in the room and he begins to feel like an intruder.

Donna bustles up the stairs, lugging a basket of laundry with her. It is an awkward scene and he finds himself suddenly standing unsteadily, grabbing Gerard's arm and telling him to come with him. They head back down to Gerard's room where he drops his arm.

“It's nice to see you too,” he says to him, crossing his arms over his chest. It is the most wintry welcome he has ever received from Gerard. Maybe today isn't the best day to show him the house. He feels slighted and confused, but Gerard twitches slightly. “Sorry, no I'm glad you're here. I was just… Mikey and I were talking properly for the first time since… you know.”

“Oh, shit, sorry! How are you doing?” Frank replies, running his fingers through his hair. It is a mess and a little too long. He wonders if Gerard will buzz it for him later.

Gerard shrugs. “No, it's okay. We can pick it back up later. We're getting there. I'm getting there. I feel better, not as tired today.”

Frank pulls him into a tight hug, smiling as Gerard returns it. “That's good, Gee, I'm glad you're doing better,” he says, kissing him softly. “But since when did your mom start doing your laundry again?” he asks, laughing as Gerard's face is filled with guilt.

He mutters, “What do you mean _again_?” under his breath. Frank rolls his eyes in response and brings his arms down from his neck.

“You're coming for a walk with me, I need you to bring ID and social security number, okay?” he demands.

Gerard looks at him slightly confused. “You what?” he asks as though the entire concept is entirely alien and unachievable. As though Frank had just suggested that they are flying to Jupiter to live in the center of the gas giant.

“Don't ask, just do, alright?” Frank tells him with a grin. “I have a surprise for you.”

Gerard cannot help but grin back as he stutters out, “Okay,” and grabs the necessary documents. Frank leads him outside before tying one of Gerard's scarves firmly around his eyes. Gerard panics slightly as his vision is cut off. “Hey! Woah, what?!”

“Don't fight it, baby,” Frank whispers into his ear, making the slightly taller man shudder before he whines. 

“What are you doing?”

Frank just laughs, grabbing his warm soft hand and starts to drag him down the footpath. “No peeking! It'll ruin the surprise.”

“Fraaaaannnkkkiiieee?” Gerard calls, stumbling over cracks in the pavement.

Frank squeezes his hand slightly. “I'm here, you'll be fine,” he tells him confidently, half laughing at Gerard's obvious lack of co-ordination.

“Where are you taking me?” he demands before tripping again and grumbling, “Fine my ass.”

“To sell your organs,” Frank replies cheerfully.

Gerard pretends to be outraged. “Frank! Don't even mess with me about that! We live in fucking Jersey!”

Frank laughs out loud as Gerard stumbles a bit more. “No one will want your liver anyway Gee, you're safe– Woah!” he spins to catch Gerard who is about to land on his face.

“Safe? Safe?!” Gerard cries when he is at last back on his not so steady feet. “You're leading me to my doom!”

“Am not!” Frank scoffs before calling him a fucking pussy and telling him to shut up. He takes the makeshift blindfold off when they are standing outside of the house. “Ta-Dah!” he cries with a dramatic sweep of his arms, grinning.

Gerard looks a little confused and shoots him a look that he does not quite understand. “Frankie, what the…” he trails off.

“It's a house, Gerard,” Frank tells him, obviously, before wrapping the grey and black striped scarf around his own neck to distract from the rainbow-shitting sparkly unicorn on the shirt.

“I can see that… why are we here?”

Frank rolls his eyes at him. “When did you stop being able to read?” he asks with a sad, slow shake of his head, digging in his pocket for the stolen cellphone. He brings it out, dialing the number for the agent as listed on the sign.

“You…” Gerard croaks out and Frank holds up a finger to quiet him as he arranges for the agent to come and meet them.

“Frank…”

He ends the call and slides the phone back into his pocket, grinning widely. Gerard suddenly grabs his hands, his voice suddenly a bit breathless. “Is this what I think it is?”

“Maybe,” Frank replies coyly, swinging their arms. “But I'm not carrying you over the threshold.”

Gerard laughs, shocked and surprised at the same time. Obviously, out of the all the crazy things that he expected Frank to do, or not do, this wasn't even contemplated. He knows they will live in New York later on, but Frank had never, to his knowledge, mentioned them living _together_ before then. The thought seems to fill him with such warmth and fear he cannot do anything but laugh. “You got us a house?” he eventually chokes out, as if saying the words will suddenly make it not real.

Frank tugs him up the small yard out the front of it; it is single story with a brick base and creamy weatherboards. Nothing fancy, certainly nothing _nice_. “Well, the agent is coming to meet us now,” he explains with a shrug as they peer in through the windows.

“You got us a fucking house?!” Gerard cries, louder this time. “Frankie!” his breath mists the bedroom window.

“Gerard!” Frank cries back happily, laughing, bumping his hip against him. His own hands are pressed to the cool glass. Gerard jumps a little before spinning around, grabbing Frank, his hands strong and demanding as they pull him to his body, their mouths crashing hard together. There is tongue and teeth and hopes all tangled up together in a way that makes Frank's knees go a little wobbly as he clings harder, mentally swearing that he is going to have bruises. Gerard's mouth is hot and insistent on his own, but eventually he pulls back. “We're just renting it,” he explains.

He could buy it if Gerard wanted it, but Gerard shakes his head, his hair flying out and a grin lighting his eyes. “I know that, I just… Frank!” he exclaims before kissing him with as much fervor as before.

Frank laughs when they break apart again to regain their breaths. “It's close enough to Mikey but without having your mom coming in every three minutes to check you’re okay.” The whole detox thing had been hard, only made harder when Donna would come into the room after a very brief knock that would send Frank flying out of bed and the current big spoon position he had been occupying on five too many occasions.

“It's perfect,” Gerard chokes out.

“It's got two bedrooms, so one you use as the studio and the shower is fucking awesome,” he explains and Gerard's eyes widen.

“A… a studio? I get a studio?”

Frank rolls his eyes again. “Otherwise we won't have a bedroom or a lounge room. Plus you'll need it when you go back to class next month,” he grins at Gerard's sudden speechlessness.

He sits down on the front steps, glancing around him. “A house. And a studio. And Art School. And You. I… I don't even know what to say…”

Frank sits down beside him, glancing down the road. “It's gonna be under your name as the bills will have to be,” he explains. “But I will set up an automatic payment from my account for all the rent so you don't have to worry about it.”

“Frank…” Gerard starts before he is cut off by Frank continuing.

“I will also do the same for the bills but will leave you my account details for anything, just in case I'm away and the plumbing breaks.” Which it does eventually and results in the carpet having to be replaced. Gerard leans in and kisses him, his hand wrapping itself around his neck as the agent suddenly pulls up curbside. They break apart like guilty teenagers and Frank holds out his hand to shake.

“You must be Mr. Iero. I'm Sarah, I spoke to you on the phone earlier? Anyway, I'll open the house up and you can take a look,” the agent says, shaking his hand warmly and pulling the keys from her overly full handbag. Gerard follows them, slightly awestruck, into the house.

“So… what do you think?” Frank asks as Gerard wanders down the hall to inspect the second bedroom.

“It… it's perfect,” he replies with an almost religious sentiment. “Can we paint it though? Everything is beige.” he adds in a whisper.

Frank laughs. “Of course you'd protest the color,” he says, pulling him towards the master bedroom. Gerard wanders into the middle of the room, spinning around as if mapping out exactly where everything will fit. “It's got a decent sized wardrobe,” Frank explains, yanking the doors open to prove his point, even though he knows Gerard has not heard a word he has said to him in the past five minutes of looking through the house. He grabs his hand, grinning. “Okay, Gee, lets go pay the nice lady in the kitchen and then we can get the key, I hope you brought your ID.”

He digs out the wad of cash after telling Sarah that they will take the house. He hears Gerard mutter “Holy…” under his breath as he quickly counts out the bond and a month’s rent in advance.

“Don't worry, this is mine. I didn't steal this,” Frank reassures him when Sarah goes to get the paperwork from her car. Gerard smiles at him, trying not to grin stupidly over the idea that Frank is _totally_ his sugar daddy and obviously not sure he can quite believe that it is _his_ , but quickly dismissing the thought. Frank pokes him in his soft side as the agent, Sarah, comes back in with a small stack of papers for Gerard to sign as Frank slides a hand into his back pocket causing him to inhale sharply and hoping the agent doesn't notice.

“My mom's gonna be so proud,” he exclaims as the agent slides the documents into a folder once more.

“Yeah, she might have to stop doing your laundry for a bit, whatever will she do?” Frank retorts, giggling as Gerard blushes slightly before muttering a “shut up” under his breath. Frank hands over the cash as the agent raises her eyebrows before shrugging. She is used to dealing with cheques… but no matter. She hands the keys over to them and bids them farewell. They thank her politely before the door closes.

“Oh my god, Frank,” Gerard exclaims. “…We have our own place!” his hands shake where the keys are firmly pressed into his palm.

Frank leans forward without hesitation, kissing him before whispering, “Welcome home.” Gerard grips him tightly, kissing back with enthusiasm as Frank moans slightly under his breathy insistence. “I'm glad you like it,” Frank tells him with Gerard's arms still around his neck. “Saves me a lot of hassle of showing you a lot of houses we don't end up living in.”

Gerard grins back at him, his hazel eyes bright. “How long have you known about this place?” he asks as Frank stares at his mouth. It is strangely endearing the way he talks out of one side of his mouth and he resists the urge to reach up and touch it, to feel his lips move under his fingertips.

“Oh… a little while, pretty much since I first met you,” he replies distractedly, still transfixed on the way his mouth moves, giving glimpses of his small little white teeth. “Really? Did you meet me in this house?” he questions, eyes slightly wider. Frank shakes his head. “New York actually… but here the second time… it was an _interesting_ meeting.”

“Don't tell me. I wanna wait for it,” Gerard tells him, silencing him with the swift press of his lips, still grinning happily. Frank gives him a look he doesn't quite understand himself before telling him in a slightly serious tone to be nice and gentle with him. Gerard thinks he must be joking and laughs instead. “Of course I will!” he replies as Frank breaks away from him sarcastically rolling his eyes for the millionth time that day.

“Sure you will,” he mutters under his breath and is rewarded with a fake pout.

“Come on,” he says with a resigned sigh, he can worry about being molested later on. “Let's go to Ikea or something and buy us a couch,” he grabs Gerard's slightly sweaty palm and drags him out of the vacant house that is now theirs.

*

“What about that one?” Frank asks, pointing at a random couch. It is not the one they will buy, but it’s fun pretending otherwise.

Gerard glances across at it from the one he is currently sitting on, bouncing slightly. He scrunches his nose before noting, “…It's beige, I thought we'd been through this,” with a laugh.

Frank sighs dramatically, dropping his shoulders and sitting down heavily beside Gerard on the couch they will buy, he already knows where the coffee stains will be on it. “It is pretty comfy… and nice and long too,” he notes, trying to sound convincing. What if Gerard doesn't like it? What if he wants the black fake suede one next to them instead?

Gerard shifts positions, swiveling around until his dark grey jean clad legs are sprawled over Frank's lap and he is lying down with his head propped up slightly. “Do you like it?” he asks, wriggling slightly into it.

“Sure.”

“Sure? Sure like _if you like it I'll deal_ or sure like _I love it and want it whether you do or not_?” Gerard asks, sitting up onto his elbows.

“Sure as in _you make the decision_ ,” Frank replies unhelpfully, itching for a cigarette already. Damn, he really has to cut down. He shrugs, “It's an unfair advantage as I already know what we buy.”

Gerard pulls himself back up into a sitting position, a groan emitting from his throat. “That's just mean… now there's no way I can decide! What if I don't live up to my own future and pick the wrong couch?!” Frank laughs, patting his thigh. He knows Gerard is probably really worried about it. But the thought of him scared shitless about altering the space-time continuum because he picked the wrong _couch_ just sends him into further giggles. “What if the wrong couch spins our lives out of control?” he asks, genuinely worried. “Couch buying is a huge decision! They’re like beds: you have them for years. It's not like buying a burger or whatever.” It obviously irriates him slightly that Frank is making no attempt to hide the fact that he finds this extra amusing, almost doubling over. “Frankie!” he cries, almost a bit louder than necessary for the man sitting right beside him. “You can't put this pressure on me!”

Frank gulps a few breaths, calming slightly. He pats the arm rest affectionatly. “Fine, fine, it's this couch. You fuck me on it while we watch cartoons on a Tuesday morning in next month. It's a good couch,” he enjoys watching Gerard's jaw drop. It was a good memory and knows that Gerard will enjoy it immensely when he finally gets to experience it.

Gerard looks down at the couch, letting his eyes travel up to his smirking boyfriend beside him. “It is very comfy…” he says quietly before Frank is dragging him off it with a grin towards the bed department.

“No magical _I know the future_ hints this time. This is meant to be fun, Gee,” Frank tells him, giving his hand a gentle squeeze.

“Can I jump on them?” he asks in return. _God, what is he? Four?_

But Frank grins, almost manically, back at him replying, “Only if I get to jump with you.”

Gerard clearly needs no more permission as he lets go of Frank's hand and jumps on one. Frank follows suit, bouncing on one a few times before moving on, rubbing his ass.

“The springs hit my ass on that one, how's the one over there?” he asks as Gerard belly flops down onto another letting out a slightly winded groan. “Ow… that was disappointing,” he replies.

“That's what he said!” Frank retorts as Gerard scrambles off one bed and begins prodding with one finger at another, as though prodding it will show if it is jumping-on-able. 

“You never said that!”

“Not yet I don't…” Frank teases, jumping onto the same bed Gerard is prodding with one long index finger.

He lifts an eyebrow. “You wouldn't. I'm a fucking great lay and you know it,” he says, jumping onto the bed, snuggling around Frank's smaller frame. “Mmm, this one is nice.”

“So this one?” Frank asks, trailing his hand slightly down Gerard's chest eliciting a small shiver, a nod and a protest.

“Frank… we need to get it home before we can use it…” Frank grins and grabs his crotch before planting a kiss to Gerard's lips. “Home,” Gerard reiterates with a grin before Frank eventually rolls off the bed.

“Okay, you tease,” he says, steering them away from the beds. “Bed linen and stuff now, and no Star Wars sheets.”

“Aww, why not?” Gerard pouts in return. He didn't think there was anything wrong with his sheets but Frank raises his eyebrows.

“Cause it's hard to fuck you while looking at Yoda,” he says bluntly.

Gerard bites his lip softly at the thought of Frank fucking him, closely followed by the thought of _Yes. Please_. “Okay,” he draws out instead, managing not to grin. “You don't think Yoda's sexy?”

“What the… No!” Frank exclaims, wandering over to the sheet section. “…Han Solo maybe, but not Yoda. Boba Fett for sure,” he adds the last part as an after thought. There was something so awesome about the costume. Dude is bad ass.

“Oh my God, yes” Gerard agrees, “Han is gorgeous…”

Frank just rolls his eyes and mutters something about how of course Gee would say something like that before announcing that he’s going to get a trolley and when he gets back there had better be no blankets with tigers or panthers on them.

Finding a trolley proves to be harder than Frank first anticipated it would be. He knows there were some at the front of the store but it seems like such a long way when he could just hijack someone’s barely filled trolley. It’s easy, like picking pockets. He watches a businessman circle a shelf with a trolley with a shower curtain in it, carefully following until the guy leaves it. Seizing the opportunity he makes off with it while they guy peruses the small shelving units.

He can see Gerard staring blankly at fitted sheets and struggles to contain the laugh that is building in his throat. He looks desperately uncomfortable and keeps shifting his weight. This opportunity is too great Frank decides, and quickly hides behind a few shelves. “Luuuuuuuuuuke,” his voice floats across the store, audible over the cheesy music being played. “Luuuuuuuuuuke, use the force Luuuuke.”

Gerard spins around a few times, perplexed and unsure where the voice is coming from and where the hell Frank is. Eventually he calls out softly, “Ben?”

The only reply he receives is, “Luuuuuke,” followed by a giggle that is incredibly Frank-like.

“I sense a great disturbance in the force,” Gerard calls out, grabbing a pillow and slipping between the shelves, out of Frank’s line of sight. Frank must be easy to spot though as he is promptly smacked in the back of head with the pillow.

He covers his head and drops to the ground, finally allowing the laughter to burst forth with a cry of, “Don't hurt me! I'm too valuable to the empire!”

Gerard holds the pillow up, ready to strike again as he stands over Frank cowering frame. “Surrender, before I use my Jedi powers on you.”

“Never!” Frank cries, and makes a mad grab for another pillow to defend himself with. “Turn to the dark side!” He beats at the younger man a few times before tackling him down, limbs entwining and flailing. Eventually he is able to press his lips to ones that have just been making cries of protest. They are warm and yielding beneath him, unexpectedly eager and slick.

Their movements are only broken by Gerard’s breathy whisper. “Ben, I never knew you had these intentions.” Frank laughs and pulls away, resisting the urge to let his hand trail down Gerard's jeans and work him into a state not appropriate for public places. Instead he settles for telling Gerard he is dirty before getting up and dusting himself off.

“So did you find any sheets after all that?” he asks when their breathing has returned and they are once again contemplating the almost infinite selection of bedding materials. Gerard shakes his head and gives a small laugh. “With Obi Wan Kenobi in my ear? Not so much.”

He gives a slightly exasperated sigh as his stomach growls. “Fine, I'll pick,” he grumbles, leaning on the trolley and eying up the choices in front of him.

“Please do, it's your turn to pick something,” Gerard replies, sounding almost defeated, his hands tucked securely in his hoodie pockets.

Frank steps out from behind the trolley and quickly tosses in a few sets of Egyptian cotton sheets along with several pillows. He can see the protest forming on Gerard's face and quickly explains that they are not buying silk ones because they are just asking for trouble, as are black sheets because they require washing every day if they use them. But apparently that wasn't what Gerard is concerned about as he peers at them in the trolley. He knows Frank can afford it, but he is unsure if he wants him to spend all his money on _sheets_. Frank just shrugs his shoulders and smiles brightly, stating that they feel really good. Well, of course.

*

When it is finally moving day, Frank is far too hot and out of breath. He struggles into the hallway, trying to stop the heavy, awkwardly shaped box from slipping out of his sweat soaked grasp. His lungs are burning and he cannot understand what could possibly be this oddly weighted in the box. Or where Mikey has disappeared to when he could be helping.

“Fucking hell,” he swears. “What the shit is in this box?” He calls out to Gerard, unsure of where to place it. He does not want to have to pick it up again once he puts it down.

Gerard sidles up behind him, peering over his shoulder as he clutches a trash bag of clothes and looks thoughtfully at the box in Frank's arms. “Ah, that's my paints,” he says after a moment of examination.

Frank swears again and staggers into what will become the studio. He has half a mind to drop it to the ground and kick it for good measure. Fucking boxes. Instead he places it down, groaning at the pain in his back when he stands once more. He feels like an old man. He stumbles back out, leaning on the doorframe of their new bedroom for support. There are still more boxes out on the front yard but he’s unsure if there is any motivation left in his body. He can feel the dirt and dust sticking to the sweat pooling on his forehead and face. He yanks the hem of his shirt up and wipes his face as best he can. It provides a small amount of comfort. Not as much as a shower and a cold beer would.

He watches as Gerard staggers in with an easel under each arm. It does not look easy or comfortable. He wipes his neck and face again for good measure.

“Hey,” Gerard's smiling voice pants in his ear. “Lose the shirt.”

Frank pauses for a minute, pulling it down from his face.

“The shirt. Lose it.” Gerard repeats before adding, “Because… it's gross now,” like he was thinking furiously for a reason on the spot.

Frank shrugs and tugs it off over his head. He figures it’s a valid enough reason, even if it wasn’t the actual one. Besides, he’s overheating, and the shirt is kind of gross now. Suddenly Gerard's fingers are tracing over the hope tattoo on his chest before trailing down to the two swallows gracing his hips.

“Oh, and ‘cause I like your skin,” Gerard grins, the real explanation now given.

A small snort of laughter breaks from him and Gerard just gives a small shrug, his graceful pianist-like fingers caressing and lingering over the slightly raised lines where the ink is embedded.

“So I'm a perv,” he relents. “What you going to do about it?”

“That’s fine, but yours has to come off too,” Frank replies, his hands already tugging the hem of the damp Madonna shirt up from Gerard's torso. Gerard wriggles slightly, tugging away. “It's only fair,” Frank adds. “It's either that or your pants. ‘Cause I like your dick.”

Gerard's face flushes and he bites at his lower lip before slowly taking the shirt off and wrapping his arms around himself. Frank shoots him a grin before starting for the door and stating that there are plenty more boxes yet in the yard.

“Tell Mikey not to break anything in the kitchen,” Frank remarks when he hears something crash from that direction, picking up another box and cursing the amount of crap Gerard has as he hears Gerard tell him not to let his brother near the toaster. At least this one is a better shape and isn't as heavy as the goddamn paints. He glances at the awkward man struggling to lift one of the smaller boxes and the last of the bags as he squints in the brightness, and Frank frowns. “Why is your shirt back on?” He asks, confused. It hasn’t been two minutes since the pale smooth skin had been exposed and Frank misses it already. Gerard just mumbles a string of incoherent words before heading back in, avoiding Frank's eyes and the confusion within them.

When Frank staggers in with the last box, he drops it just inside the door and stays bent over it for a moment to catch his breath, watching as droplets of sweat fall and darken little circles on the cardboard. A moment later, he lets his legs give out and crashes back onto the floor, half rolling into the centre of the room, contemplating the possibility that they can smoke in the house. He decides he doesn’t care and lights one, passing it into Gerard’s looming grabby hand and lighting another as he sits down next to him, the two of them exhausted.

“I’m not moving for a week,” Frank declares and rests his head on Gerard’s shoulder, feeling his small laugh.

“Me neither.”

“Damnit. Who’s going to get me a glass of soda then?” Frank turns his head towards the kitchen where he can see fleeting glimpses of the younger Way unpacking a box. Gerard giggles as Frank whines a long, drawn out version of his brother’s name in the hopes of cold beverages.

With no such luck, they realize, when Mikey steps out of the kitchen and looks down at them, smile trying to pull at his lips. “I like this place,” he says, taking another glance around them. “It’s close.”

It somehow never quite occurred to Frank how much of a homebody Mikey is until then, but a quick look at Gerard and he realizes this isn’t at all unexpected. “When the couch arrives, you’re more than welcome to crash here whenever,” he says with a grin. He never really manages to see enough of Mikey.

It’s not like Mikey’s expression changes as such, but he’s looking at Frank, and Frank gets the impression he’s said something wrong. But then, with a quick adjustment of his glasses, Mikey says, “Of course I am,” and Frank relaxes and laughs. Of course he is.

Any unpacking plans seem to completely derail as the three of them sit on the floor and discuss the pros and cons of building forts before all of their stuff is taken out of boxes. With a final word about waiting at least until the furniture arrives, Mikey unfolds his limbs and stretches out until he’s somehow made it onto his feet. Frank watches as he has a quick and silent conversation with his brother – resulting in an embarrassed sounding “Mikey!” from Gerard as his face flushes bright – before ruffling his hair and waving to Frank before letting himself out the front door.

There is a moment of quiet, while Gerard stares adamantly at the floor, obviously trying to will his skin back to normal, and Frank just waits, smiling softly at him. “What did he tell you?” He finally asks when Gerard has paled down to a light pink, but at his words the color flares again.

“He said it sucked that the bed hadn’t arrived yet and… and to be careful not to get carpet burn.” Frank laughs hard. Mikey is the best possible mixture of awesome, awkward and nonchalant.

“Well,” he reasons with a smirk, his body dropping back down to the floor with fatigue. “The base hasn’t arrived yet but that doesn’t mean we can’t use the mattress. We just have to move it somewhere it can lie flat.”

Gerard offers a lopsided smile and they lie on the rough carpeted floor of their new home looking at each other for a long moment, just smiling comfortably. Until Frank’s stomach makes a loud noise and the two men let out relaxed giggles. Frank hauls himself to his feet and helps Gerard stand, before letting his fingers trail down to the hem of his t-shirt once more. Gerard stills, but Frank pushes his confusion to the side and leans in, kissing over his neck. He keeps hold of the shirt, lifting it inch by inch even while Gerard wriggles around a little. He knows he still has room to push though when the stretch of neck in front of him extends as Gerard tips his head back. He darts his tongue out.

Gerard sighs and shivers as Frank murmurs a quiet “You taste all salty,” but he wriggles away from Frank’s grasping fingertips on his shirt, tugging the fabric back down to cover his skin.

Frank frowns slightly. “What’s wrong, Gee?”

Shuffling his weight from foot to foot, Gerard’s lips barely move as he mutters, “I just…” he shrugs. “Don’t want you to see me.”

Frank pulls back immediately, eyes widened in shock. He has no idea where this is coming from and doesn’t like where it is going. “Gee…” he whispers, fingers draping lightly across the light shadow of stubble on Gerard’s jaw. “You’re gorgeous.”

But the man in front of him has made up his mind. “Not like this,” he says, and Frank aches to think how long he has been feeling like this to sound so sure.

Hopefully, he asks, “What? All dirty and tired?” In a last effort to diffuse the hurt in Gerard’s voice, but he knows before the words are out that it won’t work.

Gerard is shaking his head, eyes on their feet. “I didn’t take care of myself,” his voice is barely audible and Frank squeezes his eyes shut for a moment. “All that beer…”

“Shut up,” Frank cuts him off, resisting the sudden urge to pull his hair out. “You have no idea how badly I want to fuck you,” he knows the words aren’t eloquent – nothing compared with the things Gerard says to him – but they are exactly what he means. He pulls Gerard close, hands fisted in his shirt, and kisses him hard. Gerard kisses him back, almost desperately, but he also whimpers. Frank knows by heart every noise that he can draw from Gerard; this whimper is not of the knees turning to Jell-o variety. It’s a wanting sound, yes, but it is laced with fear. As are his words about having the lights off, but Frank shakes his head, gripping harder but pulling back slightly. “No,” he says firmly. “With the lights on. Like pretty much always.” He sees Gerard shift uncomfortably again and tries to hold in his sigh. “But, if it makes you uncomfortable… Okay.”

He can see the movement of his Adam’s apple in his throat as he swallows and whispers his thanks. Frank offers a smile and presses his palms flat on Gerard’s chest and a small kiss on his chin. He catches a whiff again of the sweat lurking on his skin and makes himself pull further away, but not quite able to break contact.

“So, I guess you having a shower with me right now is out of the question?”

Gerard chews on his lip nervously and steps out of the last of Frank’s hold, silent and visibly scared.

“It’s okay, Gee,” Frank reassures him, still offering a small smile. “Order some takeout for dinner? I’ll be back out soon.” He sees Gerard nod and head for the phone, an apology on his crooked lips. He follows him quickly, pulls him around and cups his face with both hands, standing on tiptoes to kiss him softly. “I love you,” he says, and watches as Gerard’s eyes close and he murmurs the words back. “You’re beautiful, Gee,” he insists. “Always.” He feels Gerard’s face heat a little as he pulls him into a tight embrace and tells him over his shoulder, “And by the way, I think your tummy is really cute.” His smile is still on Gerard as he leaves the room.

In the shower, the hot water pounds out some of the tension in his muscles and when he turns the faucet off he can hear Gerard ordering Chinese on the phone. He smiles to himself.

His smile twitches down, however, as he steps out of the shower. He doesn’t know what’s been happening in Gerard’s brain since he sobered up, but he never assumed it was this. Drying slowly, he tries to figure out what he needs to say to make Gerard understand how perfect his is, but he comes up short. He wraps the towel around his waist, the air in the house warm enough for him to stay like that, and heads back out to Gerard. He hears the front door close and the rustle of plastic bags as he enters the room.

“Wow, is the food here already?” he asks, and watches as Gerard pulls containers out of bags in the kitchen. “Holy crap that smells good. Did you get the vegetarian rice?”

“I got vegetarian everything,” he replies, doing a little rearranging before handing Frank a box of food and chopsticks as he sits on the floor, his own meal in hand as he sits across from him.

“You’re the fucking best,” Frank gushes, breaking his chopsticks apart, picking up as much as he can manage and shoving it into his mouth, talking around it without a care. “You have no idea how much I love you right now.” He pauses for a moment, watching the small, slow mouthfuls Gerard is taking and sighs, still not knowing what to say. “You have to try the shower,” he adds instead and makes a flawless argument as to why it is amazing.

Gerard has an eyebrow raised for most of the speech. “Are you trying to lure me into cleanliness?” he asks, sounding suspicious.

“Yes,” Frank says plainly and tells Gerard that he is showering that night as well, even if he has to drag him in there.

But Gerard just shakes his head and swallows the mouthful he’s been chewing on for far longer than Frank deems necessary. “I need it,” he replies quietly with a shrug and goes back to his dinner.

When Frank scrapes the last grains of rice out of his container, licking at the chopsticks to get the last remnants of flavor, he sets it down and falls back onto the carpet, stretching out. Gerard closes his container, but Frank’s sure he can’t have eaten more than half of it, and lies next to him, curled in for a few long minutes. Frank pulls out his cigarettes again and offers one to Gerard, but he declines and hauls himself off the floor to shower while Frank smokes. Frank would have to be blind and stupid not to notice that Gerard is using his habit as a distraction from his attempts to have them shower together, but he lets it go. This isn’t the time.

After not even ten minutes, a pajama-clad Gerard shuffles out of the bathroom and takes up his position next to Frank again.

“We live here now…” he whispers, sounding awed, into Frank’s shoulder.

Frank nods. “Yeah, we do. It feels awesome. And I can finally watch cartoons naked.”

“I don’t live in Mom’s basement anymore,” Gerard adds, making Frank giggle quietly. “It feels weird.”

He twists over to place a kiss on Gerard’s nose, not really concerned about his lover’s attachment to his old room. “Good weird?”

“Definitely good weird,” Gerard confirms. Frank smiles warmly and lifts up his arm so Gerard can snuggle in closer. He does, yawns, then puts his leg over Frank’s and closes his eyes. The yawn is contagious and Frank’s jaw clicks loudly when he exhales one. The air is still warm and Frank doesn’t even care that they’re in the middle of the living room floor and he’s only wearing a towel. He closes his eyes and holds Gerard tighter.

*

The first sound Frank hears when he wakes up is his own teeth chattering. He cracks his eyes open to find that it’s still dark out. His towel has been pushed off the front of his hips and scrunched into lumps under his ass.

“Gee?” he whispers as he wiggles it free. He curls in on himself, pressing close to Gerard wherever he can but feeling him shivering too.

“Hm?” comes a quiet reply.

Frank pulls him closer. “We– we should go and sleep in our room; pull the mattress down. It’s freezing out here.”

“Oh,” Gerard’s voice is surprised. “It is actually cold?”

A small laugh breathes into Gerard’s ear before Frank realizes that the man next to him has been so used to temperature fluctuations that it’s not surprising that he can’t tell if they’re real anymore. He nods instead, whispering that his balls are receding so far that they’re practically inside him. They smile at each other for a moment before the chattering of their teeth fills the room and they pull each other up and into the bedroom. Their bedroom.

The mattress flops onto the floor loudly and between the two of them, they quickly manage to find a pile of blankets to throw over themselves, both unsure as to why they didn’t start here. The moment they crawl in, Gerard is making grabby hands at Frank, who smiles indulgently and wriggles closer. There’s something sticking into him though – the tie on Gerard’s pajama bottoms – and he reaches down to push at it.

Gerard makes a sleepy muffled sound that might be a question.

“Just take them off, Gee,” Frank suggests, pushing at the waistband. He’s awake enough to be a little surprised that Gerard agrees, but before he knows it, they are naked together on their new mattress in their new bedroom in their new house. Together. He runs his hands over the exposed skin gingerly, overcome once again with how this is working out finally, how Gerard is better and they are living together.

Gerard shivers mildly at his touch and pulls him closer still, mumbling about it being warmer and Frank crowds in gratefully, holding tight and pressing his lips against Gerard’s neck over and over, trailing eventually up to his mouth and swallowing the moan that escapes. The man is like a fucking radiator and Frank can’t get enough. He tells him as much and lets his hands wander over the soft, warm skin.

“Frank…” Gerard whispers in a voice so quiet that he nearly misses the protest in it. Frank looks up, concerned and presses in with his trailing fingertips comfortingly. “I… No, never mind,” Gerard finishes weakly.

In any other situation, he would kiss Gerard’s worries away if he wasn’t up to discussing them, but right now Gerard is shrinking away from him. “Gee, what is it?”

Gerard gulps. “I just… You’re looking at me.” For a moment, Frank is confused. Gerard is under three blankets and it’s pitch black and he can’t see anything. He tells Gerard this, and starts to say that he’ll close his eyes if Gerard wants him to, but he’s cut off with a light sigh. “No, I mean…” Gerard searches for the words. “With your hands.”

“Oh,” is all Frank can follow with, his hands ceasing their adventures. He nods then and slowly slides his palms onto the flat of Gerard’s back, holding them still but keeping the presumably wide-eyed man close.

“I don’t know,” Gerard suddenly nuzzles his face into Frank’s chest, every movement screaming embarrassment. “I’m sorry. I want you, I do, I’m just really nervous.”

He presses a kiss to his lips. “About what? Gee, however bad you think you look, it doesn’t even come close to being even one percent true!” Gerard chews at his lip, obviously not convinced, and Frank doesn’t have the energy right now to delve into his psyche, so he kisses him again. “But I know it’s difficult” – he knows it’s not the right word, but he’s said it now and Gerard doesn’t look like he minded – “at the moment, so just do whatever you’re comfortable with.” He shrugs, “I’d never force you.”

“I know,” Gerard whispers and Frank has to kiss him again. And again.

“Good night, love,” he says against his lips and closes his eyes once again. “Welcome home.”


	10. Division X

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “He knows there's something different with us, you and me, than there is with you and him. He's being selfish and says that you’re _his_. But you’re not, are you?” Gerard questions, playing with the crumbs on the kitchen bench.

He hasn't been at the home where he lives with Gerard in Jersey for long; an hour at the most. He is sitting on the bench and nibbling at the last of a Poptart with a glass of juice beside him, absentmindedly reading through the world news on Gerard's laptop. It is still unnerving how much technology has progressed, books are all but defunct and that Gerard does more of his drawing on a computerized tablet then with a pencil and paper. It makes no sense to him. But neither did colored television the first time he saw that. He glances up and chokes on his mouthful, half spraying crumbs. Gerard is standing in front of him looking strangely confident and nervous at the same time. He opens his mouth to complain about how he needs to stop creeping around and catching him off guard but the younger man beats him to it.

“We should go out to a show, I know you miss going to shows and I saw a poster for this one last week. It's meant to be some punky, heavy stuff, which I figured you'd be into…”

Frank wastes no time in jumping down from his perch on the kitchen bench and into Gerard's leather jacket clad arms, furiously pressing their mouths together. It is insane how excited he actually is at the prospect of going out. It feels like years since he has, and he can't hide the grin that plasters itself over his face as he tugs on one of Gerard's smaller hoodies. He pauses as he hunts around for shoes that might fit him. “Wait, this is at a bar right?” he asks, biting down on the side of his mouth where his lip ring used to be. Getting it pierced in the first place had been a reckless decision, it's not like he can take it with him when he travels and he isn't able to stick around long enough to let it heal. Same with the hole in his nose. Sometimes he contemplates getting them redone, like his tunnels, but they seem an unnecessary hassle these days.

Gerard gives a shrug. “Yeah, but I'll be fine,” he says confidently. “Just diet Coke, I promise.”

Frank weighs the decision. It feels like months since he has actually been out with Gerard anywhere other than a food place. It would be nice to actually feel normal for once. But he is also keenly aware that it is a bar they are going to, and the bars in this sort of area tend to reek of beer and piss and dirty times. He doesn't want to cross-question Gerard but is unsure if this is actually a good idea. In the end he settles for tugging on his skeleton gloves and replying, “If you're sure. I mean, I can protect you.”

“Protect me? From the beer that wants to throw itself at me? Oh, my hero!” Gerard says, dramatically pressing one hand, palm up, to his forehead as though he might faint if it weren’t for the massive grin on his face.

Frank rolls his eyes, toeing on some Chuck Taylors and flipping him the bird with a “You love it,” comment attached. His shoes are slightly scuffed and he can count on one hand how many times he has actually worn them around Gerard. They seem foreign yet familiar at the same time, like his own clothes. He almost wishes they were staying home so he could wrap himself in one of Gerard's too loose t-shirts that smell like coffee and security. But the promise of an actual _date night_ is too great. It hangs in the air, unspoken yet filled with so much giddy excitement that he swears he could taste it if he stuck his tongue out. “So this is like a date, right?” he hazards, standing straight up once more, drinking in the sight of Gerard dressed in tight black jeans, a t-shirt that probably needs washing and a leather jacket.

“I hope so,” Gerard replies with a grin that reveals his small teeth. Frank wants to run his tongue over them and feel them bite into his skin, but instead he grins back manically and grabs his boyfriend’s hand, squeezing tightly.

 _Boyfriend_. The word feels strange and not enough to sum up exactly what Gerard is to him. Partner sounds ridiculous, like he is afraid to be dating another man, and there is no way he'll use anything mushy like _soul mate_. Boyfriend will have to do. For now at least, he decides as he looks into his hazel eyes, with their frame of dark lashes and slightly unruly eyebrows. He banishes the thought of Jamia and all she is… _was_ to him quickly. Gerard looks almost giddy with excitement and eagerly squeezes his hand back, jangling the keys nervously in his pocket. It reminds him oddly of an older Gerard and he wonders how many months it will be until they move to New York.

“I should be okay if you wanna drive there,” Frank mentions as they lock the front door behind them. He knows it’s such a hindrance, his inability to ride in common transport. But he's pretty sure he knows the bar and how far it is from the house. The distance should be fine. “I've eaten something and gone for a run,” he explains, curious to put his own theory to the test. Gerard appears hesitant at first but nods and pulls they keys from his pocket.

“Sure. Good excuse if anyone asks why I'm not drinking too.”

“That or you could tell them you can't get it up if you do and you really wanna fuck me tonight,” Frank adds helpfully, grin plastered on his face, as the car is unlocked and he slides into the unfamiliar passenger seat. He looks around it and realizes he has never ridden in it. Hell, he didn't even know Gerard _owned_ a car. The concept seems very strange to him even though, of course he would own a car. He stares as Gerard climbs in, pulling his seatbelt on. He mirrors the action and automatically hates the way it digs in. He fumbles in the center console and lights up a cigarette, inhaling deeply and suddenly nervous. He kicks at the mess of paper, cans of soda and Starbucks cups and remarks at how very weird it feels, as Gerard turns the engine on. The stereo starts immediately, loud and pounding out some band he has never heard before and he finds himself drumming his fingers on his knee, half leaning against the cool window.

Gerard gently touches his thigh, fingers brushing against the skin that appears through the torn denim. “It's not far, we'll be there soon,” he tries to reassure him before putting the car into reverse and leaving their driveway. “Tell me if I need to stop or slow down or something.”

Frank gives a small nod and tries not to wince as they wind around a corner too quick for comfort. He closes his eyes, focusing instead on his breathing rather than how fast they are going. His fingers stop drumming and quickly close around Gerard's. His skin is warm in his grasp as he mentally tells himself to stop being a fucking pansy.

*

The bar is too hot and too closed in and he cannot help but be aware how uncomfortable it all feels. Going to music gigs and hanging out in places like this when he was younger was basically his life, before all the craziness, before Gerard. He can't help but think that he has been here before with Jamia and it sets him strangely on edge. He mutters something about needing to take a piss and quickly makes his way through the press of bodies to the bathroom. The feeling of unease doesn't leave him even as he empties his bladder into the stainless steel urinal. He hopes that Gerard is okay. It is hard not to let the protectiveness and concern overcome him as he pushes his way out once more. After all, they are at a bar and he doesn't know just how well adjusted Gerard actually is at this point in time. He hopes like hell that they are fine, that the situation is fine; that it’s not like playing with matches near drums of gasoline.

Apparently, however, things aren't fine. As he wanders out of the bathrooms he watches, horrified, as a familiar looking man presses himself and his unwelcome mouth against lips and small teeth that belong to Frank. It has been a long time since he has felt anger like this flood him, causing his heart to pound hard in his chest and ears, and his hands to curl into tighter fists. He glares murderously at them and registers Gerard pushing Bert away, saying something. Everything inside Frank is crying for revenge. For all those months stolen from him by this dirty, motherfucking asshole. The _help me!_ expression on Gerard's pale face does little to assure him that this situation is a normal occurrence and that Frank is not misinterpreting anything. Not that there is much to misinterpret with the way that Bert still tries to cling to him. To Gerard, to Frank’s fucking _everything_.

“You okay?” he grits out as soon as he is within earshot, ready to spit poison and open skin, placing a hand strongly on Gerard's shoulder, moving into the space between the two. It leaves Bert with no choice but to back down, breaking his contact with Gerard. Frank feels the younger man sigh, reassured slightly by hearing it, taking his hand and lacing their fingers together desperately. His eyes, however, do not leave the hostile force in front of him.

“Yeah, I'm good, Frankie,” Gerard says loud enough for Bert to hear, relief practically dripping from each word. Frank gives a small, solitary nod of his head and squeezes Gerard's hand slightly too hard. He addresses the asshole before him and asks him for a second to talk away from Gerard. But it is not a request and a plan is already forming in his mind. He lets go of Gerard's hand and has half a mind to attack the creature in front of him. But it would be too obvious; instead he grabs a fistful of t-shirt and pulls them both into the swelling mosh and circle pit.

*

Frank is grinning like a lunatic as he squeezes his way out of the swell of bodies and breakdowns, absentmindedly wiping his bloodied, aching knuckles on his jeans. It feels good. Almost too good. After months of enduring shit coming at him from every direction, it was relieving to finally act and not wait for something to happen. Gerard looks at him warily, stilling slightly under his grasp when he presses a kiss to his cheek. It is really loud and Gerard is forced to yell in his ear, asking if Bert is still alive. Frank nods and then shrugs, mentioning something about promising him and wiping his hands once again on his jeans. For once he feels like he can actually stick up for and defend his lover. Bert should be glad that the beating wasn't worse. He shrugs a little, then eagerly but gently placing his aching hands on Gerard's hips. He loudly explains, having to stand on tiptoes to reach Gerard's ear, that he remembers the agreement struck with Gerard he was detoxing. When he told him about Bert, how he wasn't to kill him. When he finishes the recount, he doesn't really care where they are or who might be watching, still riding the adrenaline high he reclaims Gerard's lips.

“Let's go home, or go get coffee,” Frank suggests when he finally drags himself from the drug-like addiction he seems to have with Gerard's mouth. The younger man seems surprised at the suggestion and asks him if he is sure, stating that he doesn't want Bert to ruin this for them. He shakes his head in response. Like fuck he'd let someone like Bert ruin their evening out together. But the bar is hot and he doesn't want to have to feel on edge for the whole night, waiting for another fight.

Gerard seems to accept the non-verbal exchange and leans down, kissing him again, allowing his tongue to trace over Frank's bottom lip. He feels Gerard’s fingers curl tighter on his hips and lets him in, caressing his tongue with his own, almost shivering at the heat and want there. He feels Gerard mumble into the kiss, “God, Frankie, you feel so much better than anyone else.”

The words should be assuring but it makes him want to push Gerard away, so he ignores the comment. Like hell he wants to be compared to anyone else. “Coffee?” he suggests again when Gerard pulls back for air, chest rising in small pants.

“You sure?” Gerard asks, dark eyes searching. He rolls his eyes and explains that the band has nothing on Black Flag. He can see a small smile flash onto Gerard's face, replacing the worry that had previously rested there.

*

Coffee and food turn out to be a good idea. Frank's head is pounding and he is feeling oddly off center. He hopes that he can stay for a bit longer. Driving, it seems, is just as bad if not worse than catching the subway, causing his skin to prickle with chills despite the warmth inside. They end up parking back at the house and walking, bantering back and forth as he tries to keep his stomach contents down.

He feels a gaze on them as they slide into a small booth and eventually flicks his eyes in the general direction to see a guy hurriedly turning his head away. He watches out of the corner of his vision for the next minute or more to make sure. The guy's gaze turns back on them, with a look of hopeful recognition. It's strange and he mutters to Gerard that some guy is staring at them, with a small nod in the guy’s direction.

“Hm?” Gerard replies, lowering his cup for a second and looks over. “Oh my God, no fucking way!” he exclaims in an excited voice and waves across to him, smiling unashamedly.

“You know him?” Frank asks, curious as he takes another sip, feeling the warm liquid sink into his stomach.

Gerard's attention snaps back, his smile faltering slightly. “Oh shit um… wow, this is like the worst timing ever.”

Frank is confused and watches as Gerard fidgets uncomfortably. This cannot be a good sign. “What?” he asks playfully, lowering his mug down once more. “Is he one of your exes too?” But Gerard's bodily response is all he needs to see to confirm this fact as he sinks his teeth into his lip and looks up at him apologetically. Frank’s heart sinks suddenly and he is instantly on edge. “Oh fuck off, really?” The words tumble out before he can stop or make sense of them.

Gerard blinks at him, a strange expression on his face as he bites back, “Wait… what do you mean _too_? Bert is not an ex. No fucking way. I did not fucking go there. I would never fucking go there.”

“You just did! Like twenty minutes ago! Granted it was against your will, but it was clearly his.” He is kind of disgusted at how harsh the words are that have just come out, betraying him. He immediately wants to take them back. But he can't.

“Excuse me?” Gerard stutters out, trying to keep the hurt and disgust to a low level. “I was trying to push him away in case you _missed_ that.” Frank shrugs and tells him that it came across as something that had happened before and what was he supposed to think? The man across from him states in a very harsh and quiet voice that it hasn't and not to say that ever again. “Don't think so fucking little of me,” he spits dangerously. The conversation is still quietly exchanged between the two of them but Frank can already feel the stares of other people on the back of his neck.

Frank drops his gaze but does not back down. “I don't. Sorry I fucking said anything. I just didn't know that going out on a date with you is like being trapped in _Night of the Living Exes_.” It started well, but he still finds himself cringing by the end of his own sentence.

“I didn't know going on a date with you ends up being a night of being fucking insulted.”

Frank feels sick suddenly as the words kick into place in his gut, all anger and frustration seeping away, leaving him empty and aching. He hadn't meant to, fuck knows he didn't. “Gee… I… shit, I'm sorry,” he tries, unable to face the fierce, disgusted gaze lingering on him.

“We bump into _one_ of my exes and I was actually going to ask you if you wanted me not to go over there. Now…” Gerard gets up from the table, “I'm going to say hello to Adam. I'll be back soon. If you want to come with me, can you please act like you don't think I'm a piece of shit?”

Frank watches him walk away from him and towards the strangely handsome guy who has been staring at them. He feels sick and desperately needs to leave. He cannot look at him, so he keeps his eyes trained on the table in front of him. He feels the burn in his sinuses but bites it back. He cannot believe that Gerard, _his Gerard_ , thinks that he thinks of him like that. He wants to look but knows he would not be able to stomach it. So he sits and pushes the brownie around his plate, trying not to look as pathetic and as heartbroken as he feels. There is no denying Adam is handsome, someone he always pictured as Gerard's type. The thought makes his throat twist painfully. He tries to keep his attention focused on something that wouldn't further twist the dagger in his chest but he cannot help but see Adam get up, smiling and pulling Gerard into a close hug. He can hear small snippets of conversation. Gerard is surprised to see him in Jersey, and Adam laughs in this way, which, fuck. He doesn't want to listen to that sound. It is too happy, too relaxed and he is glad that he cannot see the expression on Gerard's face. He hears Adam introduce him to the people he is seated with and offers for Gerard to join them. It is the small gesture back to him and the tone in Gerard’s voice when he says that he's there with someone that fills Frank with something that could be hope. Gerard talks with Adam about the shows he is playing before giving him another hug and explaining that he had better get back because his coffee is getting cold. Adam smiles and nods, clearly understanding the almost religious sentiment Gerard has for coffee, and promises they will hang out soon. Frank does not expect it when he sees Gerard give Adam his number and finds himself biting down way too hard on his bottom lip and feeling vastly inadequate. Nor does he expect the second hug the two of them share, and the way Adam brushes his lips against Gerard's cheek.

Gerard slides back into the booth but Frank cannot bring himself to meet his gaze, his teeth are still sunk into his lower lip. Eventually he whispers, “I'm really sorry. What I said was totally out of line.”

“Thanks,” Gerard tells him. “It really was.” He then waits a moment before calling his name. Frank does not look up from the mug between his hands, so Gerard sighs and stretches his hand out, brushing careful fingertips against Frank's hands curled tightly around the lukewarm liquid. He tries again and Frank looks up for a second before dropping his gaze. The silence between them stretches out, taut and uncomfortable.

It is Frank who breaks it finally, murmuring once again that he is sorry; that he knows Gerard hates it when he says it, but he really is this time. Gerard slips his warm hand fully onto his.

“I don't mind so much when you mean it, when it's for something like this.” He finds himself taking a breath and trying to explain. “I like that you're jealous in theory. That you want me to yourself; that you think I'm worth getting jealous over. But you get angry about it and you either beat the crap out of someone or you take it out on me.”

Frank gives a small nod and apologizes yet again, explaining that he doesn't deal well with stuff like this. That he doesn't like knowing or seeing someone who has fucked Gerard or wants to. It makes him so angry and out of control. He knows it’s obvious given how he has reacted recently, but he's not sure what Gerard wants him to say, do, or how to make things better. But Gerard's hand is still on his and he is asking him to work on it, to think things through a little before taking it out on him and all he can do is nod again. He hears Gerard asking where they were before all of this got messy and pretends to play along after a long moment of dazed confusion.

*

He wakes early, covered in sweat and sticking to the sheets. After lying there, half blinking in the pre-dawn light he gets up, careful not to move too quickly or loudly to disturb the beautiful sleeping body next to him. Dressing quickly in clothes of questionable cleanliness he leaves, desperate for the feeling of concrete pounding beneath his feet, desperate to not have to think anymore, not to feel anymore.

It means Gerard awakes to an empty, cold spot beside him. Patting around aimlessly at the bed, his hand searches, but it is obvious Frank has been up for a while. He curls back up underneath the covers and rearranges his pillow with a yawn. It is the weekend. A time to sleep in, maybe have a lazy wank, eat shitty food whilst watching cartoon reruns and being annoyed by Frank. But the house is strangely quiet. No sounds come from the kitchen and the TV isn't on. He shrugs and closes his eyes, thinking that maybe Frank is reading in the lounge or something. After a good thirty minutes of trying to return to sleep he opens his eyes and emits a loud groan at the ceiling, mentally blaming his silent partner.

He wastes the morning in his studio, absentmindedly drawing on his tablet, mind preoccupied on Frank’s whereabouts. He has an assignment due that he really should be working on, but he cannot bring himself to even pick it up, his head still too full of worry, last night’s events and not enough caffeine. He hears the front door open and quickly gets up, calling out Frank's name and trying not to trip over the various books and other things clustered on the floor in his haste.

“Hey,” Frank replies, his face red and panting still as the slick of sweat clings to him.

Gerard crosses his arms across his chest almost defensively. “Jeez, could you leave me a note or something? I couldn't find you. I was worried.”

Frank tries not to notice the way the man in front of him rubs his face, clearly regretting the words that have just left his lips. He quickly replies that he didn't sleep well and promptly yanks the fridge open with more force than necessary.

“Are you okay?” Gerard asks.

“Yeah, fine,” he slams a cupboard door hoping it will stop the questions and the feeling of interrogation. He knows his fears and hurt are completely irrational and really does not want to voice them. Not now at least. Not when everything is so fresh and easily bruised. Gerard continues to push though, stating that he knows that it is bullshit. Frank lies and tells him otherwise but still does not meet his eyes. He can't. He ritually begins to pour two mugs of coffee. A habit and clearly something he can pretend to concentrate on.

Gerard sighs and leans on the bench, watching him. “Fine,” he remarks, “But I can't do shit if you don't tell me what's going on.”

“What?” comes Frank’s reply as the refrigerator door opens and slams shut again. “ _You_ can't do shit Gee.”

“What does that even mean? I just want to know what's got you so riled up,” Gerard’s tone is getting bitter and he is obviously not prepared for the answer that comes out of Frank's mouth of perfect teeth and biting tongue.

“ _You_. Fuck. I can't stop fucking seeing him, can't fucking stop seeing him fuck you.” Frank looks at him for the first time and waves his arms to illustrate the point. Shit. He can't believe he has just let it all spill out. He watches as Gerard stumbles back a little, looking like he has just been hit hard in the stomach.

“Excuse me?” Gerard asks in a low voice, his tone hinting that he doesn't want to hear it again, that he’s already hurt enough. Obviously things were not okay from last night; that much was evident in the way that the shadows clung under Frank's eyes and the words that come out swinging from his mouth. Fucking hell. Frank tells him that he knows it was ages ago but after seeing Adam, and seeing Bert kiss him…

He draws in a breath and clearly asks “How many times did he fuck you?”

“Are you fucking kidding?”

Frank drags in a breath and silently picks at his fingernails. His throat feels raw as he lets out what he has been bottling up since Gerard detoxed. “How could you not fucking trust in us? You couldn't fucking wait?” He feels weirdly possessive, something he knows he has no right to feel but cannot help it. Gerard looks stunned, opening his mouth a small amount and closing it. “I'm sorry it was almost two years,” Frank continues. “There's nothing I can fucking do about that.”

There is a look of realization that passes over Gerard's shocked face. “Shit, this is about _Adam_?” Frank cannot bring himself to look at him, especially when Gerard yells “Fucking hell! You were gone, alright, you were _gone_ and you didn't fucking tell me you were coming back! You want me to rot away alone? ‘Cause that's what I thought was going to happen! You knew that you'd be back, that we'd be together, but you didn't fucking tell me!”

“Yes I did! I have! I just couldn't give you any motherfucking dates!”

He remembers telling him, in middle school, high school and just before art school. But Gerard seems adamant otherwise. “Not then you hadn't!” he argues back, “I didn't know we had a life together until months after Adam. All your fucking _I don't wanna tell you in case I mess things up_ , well, it fucking got messed up anyway!” He doesn't quite know how to put into words how he has every right to be scared of messing things up, but Gerard is still yelling at him. “It was eighteen months! Shit, Frank. I trusted you with everything. Things would've been different if I'd known otherwise. I trusted every fucking word you said even when you didn't deserve it! And now you just think I'm some whore?!”

The words sting worse than nettles and wasps as he gasps, “What? No I don't!”

The glare he is given hurts even more as his voice drops low again “You do. I can fucking see it. You think I cheated on you.”

He wants to deny it but it's true, more so after seeing Adam. Fuck. He's exactly what he pictured Gerard's type to be. The thought makes him sick.

“M...” Gerard blinks and he realizes that he has said the words out loud. “My _type_? You have a fucked up imagination Frank. Did it ever occur to you that maybe _you're_ my type? Or do you just think everyone is? ‘Cause you're so sure that I've been off with everyone.”

“Has there been anyone else?” Frank finds himself asking through hollow words. He has always felt as if he has forced Gerard into liking him because he was always _there_. Just like with Jamia. As though Gerard never really had a choice in it.

Gerard throws his head back. “Oh my God, fuck you, Frank. Fuck you.”

He almost manages to bite back an answer, but says that it's not like Gerard has been forthcoming about any of this. He knows about Adam; about Bert trying it on. But aside from that he knows shit all and it is eating him alive, digesting his organs along with every hope he has for the both of them.

He receives a cold glare as Gerard folds his arms across his loose t-shirt clad chest. “Oh, not like you? With your _wife_? How long was it before you decided to let me in on that little fling?” Frank swallows hard and drops his eyes as Gerard drags in a stuttering breath. “That's what I fucking thought.”

Frank brings his right hand up and rubs his face, apologizing way too late. “You wanna know?” Gerard continues with a sneer. “I'm not gonna fucking keep secrets from you. You already know that I went on a few dates while you were gone, with four people to be exact. That included Adam. And _none_ of them fucked me. Not once. Not even Adam. You're the only one.”

Frank stares at him in shock, unable to process what he has just heard.

“What? Can't believe your whore of a boyfriend doesn't let just anyone fuck him?” Gerard asks with a shake of his head. Frank quickly tells him that he has never thought of him like that. “Then why the fuck do you act like you think that?”

His voice and actions break a little as he asks, as does Frank's face as he reaches out to touch him and is shaken off. He suddenly droops in exhaustion and collapses in on himself as Frank tells him that he is precious; that he is sorry; that he has only come across like that because he feels like he doesn't deserve him. They stare at each other, wrecked, their insides covered in bruises and cuts that bleed freely.

Gerard eventually draws in a shaky breath and speaks quietly, the words pressing on Frank’s ears. “Here's me telling you: if you keep looking at me like I'm a whore, I'm gone. Alright? I love you and I need you, but I'll manage without you if you're gonna treat me like shit. I want only you and I don't wanna have to set Mikey on you since you're one of his closest friends, but if I told him you hurt me then you'd have to do more than time travel to avoid him.”

Frank nods and looks beaten, all the fight gone from him. “I'll do better,” he whispers and finally meets Gerard’s broken gaze again. “I'll show you how much you fucking mean to me.” They stand there for another minute, looking at each other before retreating to different rooms to lick wounds and work out what the fuck just happened.

*

They move around each other in an uneasy dance for the rest of the day. Acting only on habits like coffee and cigarettes, eating dinner in front of the television together. Stolen glances between them being the only recognition. It is eventually Frank who breaks, wrapping his arms around Gerard as he passes him in the hallway. At first, Gerard stiffens in the embrace, but relaxes into it a second before Frank releases him. He feels even smaller against Gerard, almost childlike. It barely dispels the tension and disappointment that taints the air, but as they settle into bed together Gerard finds himself searching for the warmth and comfort of Frank's body and slowly, almost reluctantly, curls around him. It takes a week or more until Frank feels the familiar tug on his body and knows that he is going. He whispers a prayer of thanks into the empty kitchen.

*

His head is splitting as the coughs rack his small frame, bringing the burn of bile with them. He rolls onto his elbows and knees, feeling the rough, familiar carpet beneath him. He swallows back the vomit as the coughs continue to tear themselves out of his now tender chest. There are footsteps approaching. They stop and kneel down beside him, gentle hands trailing down his back in a way that brings comfort and guilt in equal measures.

“You okay?” her voice asks as the coughs lessen somewhat and he struggles to sit up, his head swimming.

He coughs a few more times before hoarsely replying “Yeah,” as her arms wrap around his shaking body.

“I'll run the shower for you,” Jamia tells him, slowly recoiling her grasp. He nods in thanks as he tries to summon the energy to stand, to react, to refuse, to leave like he should. He hears the shower start and her bare footsteps on the tiles. He knows he should leave, should go, to keep the promise he made to someone else, to be strong, to resist; but suddenly her hands are helping him to stand and walk into the bathroom. Her touch is reassuring in the way that family arguments over Christmas dinner are. She is familiar and warm and _here_.

He gets into the heat of the pounding water, twisting his shoulders as it drums on his skin and the back of his neck, as though it can undo all the invisible knots under his skin. She leans on the sink, watching, as though she can undo all the invisible holes under his skin, under hers and between them too. He has been coming less and less and she has already moved his clothes into the bottom draw of the dresser. She has been filling the solitude and the hole where he used to fit so perfectly with work and drinks with friends. The moments of connection between them are now fleeting and rare. She wonders when it started, when it all began to fall apart without either of them realizing it. She wonders when they stopped meaning anything to each other aside from routine and commitment. She knows because he wonders the same. She doesn't want this anymore and doesn't know how to tell him. It's not that she isn't attracted to him still; watching him in the shower, with the hot water pouring over him, flushing his skin and making his tattoos vivid makes it clear that she still is. She bits her lip as her mind screams at her to react, to refuse, to leave. But then the shower turns off and she hands him a clean towel from the cupboard. He takes it with a smile and a “Thank you,” the same one that used to make her heart skip beats. She turns away and heads into the kitchen as he dries himself.

He can feel it, the connection between them, weak and thready, like a dying pulse, so different from when they first met. He wonders how many days he has to endure the end of them for in this uncomfortable pain. He wants to be able to give it up, but as he tucks the towel around his waist and heads into the kitchen he is unsure how.

“Saturday, huh?” he asks as he opens the fridge, pulling out the bottle of orange juice and she hands him a glass from the cupboard. Saturdays mean jeans and t-shirts that are comfortable but not filled with holes like Sundays’. She cracks a smile, tucking her auburn hair behind her small perfect ears. She is not wearing her rings and he feels his stomach sink. He sets the juice down on the bench. His hands are shaking. He needs answers; he needs to know how long they have been playing this charade, and how much longer he has to pretend to be a loving, good husband. “Jamia?” he asks, his voice unsure as she turns to look at him. She ducks her head as if he has already asked. He can feel it, like he is standing on the edge with one foot already in the air. She shakes her head and pulls her cardigan around herself.

The silence stretches on before she eventually blurts out “We were never married Frank. I… I went to the lawyers two months ago, apparently it wasn't legally binding.” Frank stalls. All this time? How? He tries to open his mouth to speak but the words are stuck in his throat. “I love you, I do,” she tells him and finally meets his eyes, tears welling in them and spilling down her cheeks. “But… I can't do this anymore. Fuck, I told myself I wasn't going to cry.”

He is shocked and unable to process what is happening. He had never really thought about how they would end… he just knew they would. He wishes it didn't feel like his heart is being ripped out while being filled with relief at the same time. “…Okay,” he says shakily, fuck, what is he even meant to say?

“I fucked Andrew,” she tells him plainly. “We've been seeing each other for over a month now.” He flinches. It is not surprising, but that doesn't mean it doesn't hurt. All he can imagine is some guy, Andrew, in _their_ home, kissing and touching _his_ wife. But it isn't their home and she isn't his wife. Not anymore and not ever apparently. “I… I know you'll still be coming occasionally, I know you can't help it.”

“So you'll move all my shit down to the spare room then?” he bites back, feeling the irrational anger rise in him. He knows she'll fight back.

“Yeah, something like that. Fuck, Frank, you've kind of left me with no choice here. You're never here! You want me to be lonely? Is that it? After all we've had together?” her voice is hard and brutally honest as her words slam into him like a freight train.

“I never wanted you to be lonely…” he tries. He honestly didn't.

“But what? You'd keep stringing me along rather than being honest while the whole time you're with _him_? The whole time not being honest with me?” she shakes her head. “I just wish you had fucking said something. I'm not as fragile as you think I am. You should've told me that we were never built to last. I could've taken it, you know?”

He nods but can't help feeling that it isn't entirely his fault. “When should I have told you? When I found out? When even I couldn't fucking believe it?”

“It would've been better than making promises to be honest and faithful.”

He closes his eyes, all the fight leaving him. She is right. Of course she fucking is. Shit. How could he have lied to her for so long? To himself? He opens his eyes finally and studies her. She is looking better than the last few times, more filled out and not as skinny, which is a relief and he can trick himself into thinking she is happy. “I'm sorry.” he tells her, fingers itching for a cigarette or weed, just _something_. _Anything_. He wants Gerard; his firm fingers sprawled supportively on his lower back. Needing him like he needs air to breath. He feels choked here as his guilt and her pain wrap themselves around his throat and heart, squeezing hard while his brain fires in any direction it can find without a moment’s notice.

He turns and goes out into the yard, swiping the packet of cigarettes off the table as he does so. It is a welcome memory when he sees that she still keeps her lighter in the packet, as always, since he had shown her how. “So that you don't lose it,” he had told her with a grin, his face slightly numb and tingly from the joint they had just shared in her garden after school. She had giggled loudly, pouncing on top of him, her hands pinning him down as her mouth captured his. “You're so fucking smart,” she told him between breaths as her t-shirt rode up slightly.

He wants to throw the packet across the yard but settles for flicking his ash aggressively. Great. What the fuck was he meant to do now? Sit back and watch her move on with her life? While he keeps reappearing, inconveniencing her, interrupting her and her life and new boyfriend. Fuck. He rubs his head. He feels too old and too left behind.

“Frankie?” her small voice asks, approaching and sitting beside him, fishing a cigarette from the packet. He nods his head slightly to show he's listening, even though he really, really doesn't want to. “I'm sorry we… we didn't work out. Are… are you happy? With him – Gerard?”

He wants to cry. He does not answer the question instead he says, “Me too.”

“Don't give me that crap, Frank,” she tells him, suddenly sounding more sure of her words and shaking her head once more while taking another drag. “Answer the fucking question.”

“I… yeah, I guess so. I'm sorry Jamia, I really am, for all this shit, for not telling you sooner…” he trails off but his gaze remains on her milk chocolate eyes, framed by dark lashes. He used to – and still does – think they are beautiful. She is beautiful. But she does not and cannot fix him. He still wants her, wants a _them_. The thought makes him feel sick. When did he become so selfish? So possessive? So wrong?

“It's okay,” she tells him, gently patting his knee. It makes him realize he is still in a towel. Hell. He crushes the remains of the cigarette against the deck, letting it drop to the yard. “Get dressed okay? We'll go out for coffee.”

He wants to argue but he feels so weak that he can barely stand. He stumbles back into the house, marveling how much the _same_ it is. Even the bedroom is. He pulls out his drawers and is faced with her clothes. He tries the second and third until he reaches the fourth. His belongings cramped into one drawer. He punches the dresser even though he shouldn’t be surprised, feeling the wood smash against his right knuckles as the bottles and things on top of it rattle. His breathing is now reduced to only short, painful gasps as he braces himself against it. Eventually he is able to pull out clothing that vaguely resembles jeans and a t-shirt. He staggers to his feet, pulling the necessary clothing on. The picture of him that used to be on her mirror is gone. He glances around and, with a sinking feeling, sees that all reminders of him and their lives together are gone, thrown out or stored somewhere dark and out of the way. He has a bizarre compulsion to find them all. To find all the reminders of him in this house and return them to their rightful places. But he has moved on, she has moved on and he can deny it no longer.

Stumbling down the stairs, he finds her in the living room, standing by the front door with an unfamiliar black handbag slung over her shoulder.

“Coffee,” she says, handing him a pair of vans. He takes them wordlessly, tugging them on before following her outside into the bright sunny weekend. He does not want to go for coffee, but she is insistent. They go to a different one than from the one they usually… _used_ to go to. It is brightly lit and filled with a few booths and metal chairs. So different. She thinks she is being kind, and this place actually serves a wicked double chocolate mocha latte, but Frank shifts his weigh almost nervously behind her anyway. She orders for them and leads the way to one of the booths, sliding into it and motioning him to do the same. He glances warily around them. It is busy but not frantic, and he is desperately uncomfortable. They sit there in silence until the coffees and two muffins arrive. She is adding sugar when her phone bleeps loudly and vibrates. She picks it up, flicking the screen open and he notices her blush slightly, pulling the corner of her lip into her mouth like she does… did when he told her inappropriately funny things in public. His heart sinks faster than her sugar to the bottom of her mug. It probably is Andrew texting her, making her blush and act the way she used to with Frank. He never thought they would end like this: sitting in a cafe, having coffee. It feels like everything should be normal, but it isn't, everything is mixed up and broken. Nothing feels normal anymore. He stirs the coffee slowly, no idea where he stands anymore. Like he stepped over the cliff and is looking back up at what used to be, far out of his grasp as he falls further and further away. Jamia is talking about work or something, not what is _really_ going on. Not what he needs to hear.

He suddenly grabs her spare hand, the one that has just tucked her cellphone back into her pocket. “What the hell are we doing?” he asks as she licks the spoon, setting on her saucer.

“We are having coffee…” she replies, slightly confused. They are having coffee after breaking up.

“What the hell are we going to do?” he tries instead, his voice insistent and needy. She squeezes his hand unexpectedly, telling him that she is not moving out, Andrew is not moving in. They can be friends or whatever, because that is apparently all they have now. He knows he is acting irrationally as he wrenches his hand out of her warm grasp. Up until twenty minutes ago he had been married. Married to her. Burdened with guilt and shame. And now? He feels hopelessly unsteady. Now? Apparently all they have left is friendship and memories. What if he doesn't want friendship? He contemplates leaving when Jamia speaks again after taking a mouthful of her coffee.

“Well, where have you been all this time?” she asks with a sigh. “In the future? Have you moved in with Gerard yet?” He flinches back, awkwardly running his hand through his hair, feeling the short sides bristle against his palm. “I don't wanna wait for a future I know I'll never have with you. This,” she gestures between them like it used to mean something. “Is not fair on you, me or Gerard.”

“What are we going to do?” he cries, slightly louder than is comfortable for conversation in a public place. “Pretend that we never happened?! Act like I'm just some old friend from school?” How can they go back? How can they move forwards from this? It's not like he desperately wants or needs a future with her, but letting go?

She rolls her eyes at him, raising her mug to her lips and muttering something about him being such a _girl_ about it all. He forces himself to be calm and try and relax. The coffee is good and the muffin is better. After a few mouthfuls of each he is able to look at her and attempt something of a smile. “I still love you, you retard,” she tells him, taking another sip. “You're still my best friend, things are just… different now… better. You can't tell me you don't feel relieved.”

He doesn't quite know how to answer it. It feels like it should be a trick but he knows it isn't. “I love you too… and yeah, I am. God, I've hated lying to you, could you ever forgive me?”

She smiles and it feels like she already has. “I've had a long time to work this out Frankie. I want us both to be happy. Yeah, granted the whole thing wasn't ideal, but there's no use in crying over it. I was thinking we could get a movie and have dinner or something?” she suggests with a shrug and he cannot help but feel that this would've been a date not too long ago. He brushes the thought away and finishes the muffin before agreeing.

She makes them a Thai sweet chili tofu stir-fry and he can't help but wonder if she will remain a vegetarian with the new boyfriend. He contemplates asking her but settles for chopping carrots instead. They talk. They laugh. They make rude jokes about her parents and life is as good between them as it has ever been. He feels unsteady still, in spite of the comforting sounds they make. The food is good and the movie is shit, some really bad shoot 'em up. He doesn't know how she can stand it. But as he looks at her, he begins to understand. He needs to find a new way to fit into her life, something that isn't a charade. That isn't… old. He feels his pulse quicken and knows he will leave her within moments. He taps her on the shoulder and tries to vocalize it but his head is buzzing and he can no longer control his voice. She kisses his cheek and hugs him until he is gone and she knows at last she will be able to sleep at night, and not feel alone.

*

His head pounds incessantly as coughs break through his throat, painful and hard. He quickly opens his eyes to survey his surroundings and instantly recognizes the hallway. It takes a second for him to process what it actually means, but when he does, he quickly scrambles to his feet in case the parents are home, swearing hoarsely through his raw throat and lips.

“Frankie?” comes a familiar voice accompanied by a small head adorned with round glasses from around the corner. The voice and face are young and filled with excitement.

“Oh hey, Mikey,” he replies before letting a particular hacking cough out, barely bothering to bring his hand up to cover his mouth. His throat burns and tastes of blood and bile. Disappointment and rejection with the strange sweetness of guilty relief. He sees Mikey tuck his head back and return a few moments later with a glass of water and a cookie. The act is touching and ordinarily he would be gulping it down, looking for a way to ease the burn in his throat and the pain in his head. But instead he is scrambling to his feet and requesting clothes.

Mikey makes a small move to shrug off his small hoodie before realizing that it won't fit and disappears into the lounge room to snag the faded blanket from the sagging couch. He half-jogs back into the hallway and tosses it to the shivering form of Frank. He wraps the blanket thankfully around himself as Mikey takes off with a sprint towards his bedroom, only to return with a baggy t-shirt that must belong to Gerard and pajama pants. He hands them to him, already reaching Frank's chest height, and shrugs stating they were the first things he saw.

“Thanks, dude,” Frank tells him and quickly tugs them on. Fingers too practiced at dressing quickly to be fumbling. The instant he is dressed Mikey is tugging him by the shirt into the lounge loudly proclaiming that they are going to play video games. He cannot help the laugh that slips out. It is so easy here, he remembers. No emotions to twist and mess things up. Nothing but play.

Mikey explains that the game is really cool because you just run around and shoot all sorts of stuff up. It sounds perfect and exactly what he needs, like the cookie and glass of water clasped in his hands. “You're gonna love this!” Mikey tells him with a grin, handing a controller over. It is wireless and filled with buttons that seem vaguely familiar. Frank examines it for a moment, knowing that he shouldn’t still be surprised by the upgrades in technology, but unable to help trying to work out how the controller is linked to the console. The TV screen is filled with flickering images and he remembers and warns Mikey to be careful because he is so going to _own_ him in the game. Mikey does not take the threat seriously and scoffs, selecting the two-player option in a way that suggests he has been playing it for far too long. They wager a bet. The Mikey of this present is nine _and a quarter_ and requests a piggyback ride if he wins, and sandwiches for the older man if he doesn't.

Frank lets him win. He cannot concentrate enough on the game as his thoughts keep slipping back to the night he has just endured. He is tired and wants nothing more than to sleep and forget; move on. He wonders how long this will haunt him, how he is going to deal with the last few times of returning to her. He used to tell her that he loved her and is curious as to when he stopped, when she stopped.

Mikey wins and jumps off the couch, jubilantly bouncing around and shouting, “I win! I told you I'd win! Now piggyback me!”

He sighs and sets down the remote, smiling at the innocent boy's proud and excited grin. He stands and lets him clamber on, doing a lap around the living room with Mikey’s bony knees digging painfully into his ribs, hands clasped too tightly around his throat.

“Mikey,” calls a voice approaching from the hall. “Why are you yelling? I know… Frank?” He spins around and smiles at a younger Gerard looking tired and rumpled. He calls a quick hello as Mikey manoeuvres on his back, tucking his head down in guilt. “Ah, hi… How come you didn't tell me you were here?” Gerard seems a little perplexed, his arms hanging down by his sides and his back already shaping into his characteristic slouch. “Mikey, how come _you_ didn't tell me Frank was here?” he asks, looking pointedly at his younger brother. Mikey's knees become too much and Frank is forced to let him down as he mutters an apology. When Mikey scampers off to his room, Gerard finally comes up and hugs him. He is not much taller than his brother at this age and Frank wonders if his sudden growth spurt will be as painful as he thinks it will be. Gerard asks how long he has been there, to which he just shrugs and tells him he doesn't know, but not long. He wants to tell him everything in that moment as the boy peers innocently up at him. He wants to tell him that he loves him, that he was never actually married, that he is sorry for being so jealous and irrational. But the boy who stands before him, looking grumpy, is not ready for that and won't be for another decade at least. The thought pulls awkwardly at him, even as they make sandwiches. This Gerard is twelve and apparently pissed off at his brother.

Frank licks the jam off his fingers as he cuts the crusts off and asks for an explanation. The boy replies that his brother is his best friend but he really wishes he would get his own ideas sometimes. “Own ideas?” he asks with a laugh, mouth already filled with the sandwich. “Has he suddenly taken an interest in drawing and hiding in the bedroom too?”

Mikey had been fine to hang out with and he is curious as to what exactly Gerard means. Maybe it's just a sibling thing. Something he knows next to nothing about dealing with apparently, the boy tells him with a dramatic sigh that signals the answer should be obvious. “No. In you…”

Frank shifts kind of uncomfortably at the answer. It was not what he was expecting and is hoping like hell he is misinterpreting it. Gerard is twelve. Sure, at twelve he himself was already jerking off and thinking about girls and stuff. But the Gerard in front of him seems so impossibly young and definitely not old enough to have sexual desires or attractions. He tries to distract himself and make another sandwich, the fatigue from the last few travels settling on him.

“He knows there's something different with us, you and me, than there is with you and him. He's being selfish and says that you’re _his_. But you’re not, are you?” Gerard questions, playing with the crumbs on the kitchen bench. Frank doesn't know how to answer the question. Instead he ignores it and asks to see Gerard's drawings as he frantically thinks that this Gerard is only months away from kissing him for the first time. It's weird and one of the last things he wants to deal with right now. Gerard shows him the drawings as they sit on his single bed with glasses of soda. He feels on edge almost the entire time and ends up falling asleep with his neck at an uncomfortable angle against the wall.

*

Frank comes to, spitting up bile two houses down from the home he shares with Gerard. When he is able to scramble to his feet and run the distance, he is confronted with a locked front door. A part of him is glad, considering how late at night it is, and how rough this neighborhood can actually get. Shivering and swearing, he circles the house, tugging at the occasional window in case one will let him in. Finally his numbing fingers find one and he is able to hoist his tired and aching body into their home. He desperately hopes that this isn't like the time he came into the house, dressed in a weird assortment of laundry only to find that they didn't live there just yet. He cautiously makes his way down the hallway, relieved to see the small markers that make the house theirs.

Gerard is asleep, his mouth open and limbs haphazardly arranged around the tangle of sheets. Frank slips in beside him, careful not to wake him with his shivers and quickly drifts off, curled around his warm body.

A loud alarm sounds cruelly at some ungodly hour in the morning, yanking them both out of dreams. Frank tries to ignore it and cuddles back in once the horrible banshee-like noises have stopped, slipping his hands up Gerard's shirt and nuzzling at his neck. He is too sleepy to register that the younger man is wriggling away and sliding out of bed and away from the warmth and his sleepy embraces. The next time he wakes is to the smell of coffee and the sound of Gerard trying to be subtle whilst wrestling with the contents of the wardrobe.

“Why are you up so early?” Frank asks, his throat sleep raw and low as he peers at Gerard who promptly sticks his head back into the wardrobe like it leads to Narnia or something.

“Classes start again today…” comes the reply after the obligatory good mornings. Frank grins a little at the thought that they are finally back on track, finally moving on. He asks if Gerard is excited as he shuffles around in their bed. “Ah, does freaking out count as excited?”

Gerard's cracked tone betrays him a little as Frank does his best to reassure himself and the younger man that he will be fine and “For the love of God, wear something slightly clean.” Apparently this is a task better said than done as Gerard quickly rants about how that is what he is trying to do but he doesn't have anything that isn't already covered in paint or will fit him rather than his brother. After a few long minutes of watching him stress and toss various articles of clothing around like a tornado, Frank extracts himself reluctantly from his warm cocoon and throws two shirts at him. Gerard picks up one and throws it back almost instantly, not meeting his eyes.

“What's wrong with that one?” Frank asks, as yet another one of his suggestions joins the reject pile on the floor. “I thought you liked that one.” Gerard chews his lip, admitting softly that he does but is unsure if it is actually going to fit. “Fine, what about this one?” Frank offers with a sigh. It has got paint on it but he is pretty sure no one at art school is going to actually care. Hell, he doesn't. Gerard takes it and after looking at it critically for a moment decides that it will be fine and quickly tucks it against his pajama-clad chest and scampers off to the bathroom.

Frank sighs and flops back down on the bed, now occupied by discarded items of clothing. After several minutes of not hearing the shower run, he gets bored and makes his way into the kitchen. It is too bright to sleep and the smell of coffee proves too much to resist. Everything feels surreal and weird, and it is only when Gerard pulls on his gloves and leans in for kiss does he realize why. Confronted with a now empty house, Frank cannot help but drift, absentmindedly staring at the flickering TV. He knows that he should be happy that Gerard is going back to college; that things are finally progressing, but after seeing Jamia, he cannot help but feel weird and alone. She has moved on. Knowing that they were never officially married should be a good thing, right? He knows he loves Gerard, hell, he's so head over heels for the guy, it's borderline disgusting, but a part of him mourns for the loss of Jamia as his. It is scary that Gerard is now the only one anchoring him, tying him to something substantial, and he cannot help but wistfully hope that it is enough. That they will be enough.

He falls asleep on the couch around lunchtime and is awoken later by the door closing. Disoriented, he sits up way too fast and the room swims slightly. It takes a second for him to realize that he is in the Jersey house and the sound is Gerard returning home. As if right on cue, the younger man barrels into the lounge looking completely drained and a little freaked out. His cheeks are flushed almost with excitement and his hair is completely disheveled.

“Hey! How was it?” Frank croaks as Gerard stumbles forward and crashes into him, hands scrambling and holding tight onto his faded Batman t-shirt. He cannot help but hug back and ask if it was really that bad when he is finally able to get his breath back. He feels Gerard nod into his shoulder before shaking his head, shrugging then kind of gasping into the air but not for one second letting his grip loosen. “It'll get better. Trust me,” Frank tries for reassuring, even though for once he really has no idea. He just supposes it will be considering the younger man graduates and scores an internship as a result. It turns out, after a few seconds of composing himself, that Gerard's first day back probably could have gone better. Apparently some of the kids in his class are jerks and that it was awkward having the same tutor again.

“I don't wanna let them bother me…”

“Don't let them then, screw 'em, in four years time they will have gotten nowhere and you will be holding your second exhibition in New York.”

Frank almost feels bad for letting slip about the future that he knows and is surprised when Gerard merely shakes his head with a small laugh muttering, “I wish.” Frank looks at him for a second before laughing. The younger man blinks at him, his dark eyelashes falling and brushing his pale cheekbones. “What?” he demands, his face suddenly sour and reserved.

“You had the exact same expression on your face yesterday. I was playing video games with Mikey and you were kinda grumpy about something, about me treating you slightly differently from your brother.”

“Oh,” Gerard replies with a weak smile. “I think I remember that. I was pretty pissed at you.”

“For what?! I was just giving Mikey a piggyback ride ‘cause he won! It's not like I was avoiding you on purpose or whatever.” Gerard shifts off the couch and heads for the kitchen in search of coffee, and yells back that he just knew something was different. Frank rolls his eyes and follows, suddenly starving and in need of something other than a bowl of too sugary cereal. “Fine,” he says with a sigh, dragging the now-taller man in for a hug. “I'm gonna treat you both equally from now on.” He can feel Gerard raise his eyebrow at him. “Not now! Fuck, I mean when you're younger. I've been playing favorites a little too much lately.” The statement is disturbingly true and he hates himself a little for it, but it seems to drag a giggle out of Gerard who promptly thanks him. “I'm sorry okay? You're just too damn cute! I can't help it! Besides, what if Mikey ended up getting a crush on me instead?” Frank exclaims before really wishing he hadn't just thought about that particular subject. Mikey is great, he really is like the brother he never had, but seriously, no. Just no. Gerard laughs for real this time and shakes his head once more.

“I meant thank you for now, jackass. I had a shit day and you're making me laugh.”

“Yeah?” Frank replies, ghosting his lips in some semblance of a kiss. “Good. ‘Cause I've had the most unbelievably shit week.”

“Tell me,” the younger man states, breaking their embrace and pouring coffee into two mismatching mugs.

Frank does. It feels so relieving to let it out. To admit that he was an asshole, beyond an asshole and that it was entirely his fault, that he shouldn't have said such rude and selfish things to him, that he is sorry. He leaves out the specifics, as he doesn't know if he could deal with it all over again. Besides, this Gerard was with Adam maybe as little as eight months ago and he can't bring himself to act the way he did before. He knows he should accept it and move on but it is hard. The realization that this is what Gerard had gone through with him, but worse, hits him like a freight train and for a second he feels like his legs might give out. _Fuck_. He wants to take back the asshole comment and add _worst person in all of existence_ instead.

“Oh, well, um, I forgive you?” Gerard says, his lips wrapped around the edge of the coffee mug. “Can I do that? Since you haven't said them to me yet?”

“Maybe,” Frank replies with a shrug, feeling oddly choked up. “It sounds nice to hear you say it. We, ahh, didn't really talk much after it.” It is then he finds himself confessing about Jamia. He can't look at Gerard when he utters that he has been back to her, but he doesn't miss the way the younger man stops breathing for a second. He confesses that they were never married and that she has been dating some guy for a while now. He neglects to add about her still living in the house he bought for them. “I'm… I think I'm glad it's finally over,” he adds, toying with the still full mug on the bench. “Closure or something.” Yeah, that was it. Closure. It is still weird though, like the world was meant to stop spinning or something, but it didn't. Life just continued on and as he stands in the kitchen with a younger Gerard who is asking slightly nervously if he is happy about having him. Frank knows with a deeply weird sense of assurance that he is. He really is.

“You know what?” Gerard says, licking his bottom lip and placing his mug back down. His eyes have darkened and he looks almost predatory. It's extremely alluring and Frank has to send a mental note to his dick not to get too excited.

“Hmm?”

“I'm gonna show you what being all mine means.”

Gerard is practically purring as he licks into Frank's mouth, tugging on his bottom lip. The kisses leave them both breathless and flushed and Frank cannot help but whisper, “What? You going to do my taxes for me?”

Gerard's hands by this stage are fumbling at the button on Frank’s jeans while his mouth is occupying his neck. “Not exactly.”

“Oh,” Frank replies unevenly in mock disappointment.

“You sure _that's_ what you want?” Gerard replies, letting his teeth drag along the sensitive skin and sliding his hand finally into Frank's pants.

It takes all of his mental strength not to give in and moan loudly, but pressing the younger man closer he whispers back, “Yeah baby, I've only been avoiding them since the seventies.”

Gerard gives in and laughs, pressing his face into Frank’s collarbone. His hand stills, causing a whine to slip from Frank's mouth and a primal buck of hips into his grip. Apparently being _all Gerard's_ means blow jobs in the kitchen, and Frank is a little disappointed to have only worked this out now. Intent on returning the favor, he hauls Gerard to his feet and kisses him roughly, tasting a weird mix of coffee and himself on his tongue. They stumble into the bedroom as Frank's hand quickly slides up the younger man's shirt, feeling the heat and softness of the skin there.

Gerard freezes under his touch before yanking himself away with fear etched over his defined facial features.

Confused, Frank reaches out for him, realizing in that moment how self-conscious this Gerard is. He immediately feels guilty and the feelings are worsened when he is offered a broken apology. He cautiously steps forward and slowly wraps his arms loosely around the man before him in an attempt to bring comfort to him. “I'm sorry, I forgot,” he whispers, remembering too well how he had been when they had first moved into the house together. 

“No,” Gerard replies with a sniff. “I know this is ridiculous but I can't help it… I can't believe what I did to myself.”

Frank pulls back a little and peels his own shirt off slowly. “Trust me?”

“Um… Yes?” comes Gerard's confused response as he wraps his arms protectively around his middle. Cautiously, Frank steps forward, gently gripping the younger man's hips as his lips trail across his full cheek and down his neck. When he starts to feel him relax back into the embrace he slowly curls his fingertips under the hem of the shirt. Gerard immediately steps back, pushing his fingers away with a shake of his head; fearful. “Frankie…”

“It's okay, Gee,” Frank tries to reassure him, but the way his fists are curled and the way he stutters out that it's not means that he will spend the next few minutes trying to coax him back into a feeling of stability. He understands to some degree, having often glanced at other kids whilst growing up and how much it hurt to be _shorter_ than everyone. Including girls. But this is different and he is a little unsure how to handle the situation.

Gerard helpfully reminds him as he turns around that he is physically capable of taking his clothes off, but it's the being seen part he can't handle. “It's bad,” Gerard whispers as Frank's fingers curl once more into the hemline. “Trust me, you don't wanna see, you don't wanna feel it.”

“Gee, I do, I will, I have.”

But Gerard bites his lip and scrunches his eyes, quietly repeating, “You won't want me.” The words cut deep and Frank can't help but kiss him, trying to show him that he wants him so badly. When he finally pulls back to breathe a little he notices the way the younger man still has fear etched on his face as he states, “I'm sorry I did this to myself.” Frank tugs him closer, unable to squash the overwhelming concerns twisting in his gut. He tells him to stop apologizing, that there is nothing to be sorry for. He doesn't miss the way Gerard blinks up at him and replies in a voice that sounds too unsure, too broken, “You…? You're not going?”

“No, why would I want to? Gee, you're hot, seriously. Please can I look at you?”

Even to his own ears, his voice sounds almost pathetic in the way he begs. It has been a living hell the past few months, and more than anything he wants and needs to know that they can move past everything, all the hurt, all the guilt, all the consequences of badly thought out actions. He runs his hand down Gerard's chest and feels the way he shivers under the touch and the heat radiating through the worn fabric. Gerard drops his graze for a long moment before nodding and with excruciating slowness, peels off his shirt and wraps his pale arms around his torso, heat burning in his cheeks.

Slowly Frank's hands resume their delicate movements. He is careful and watches Gerard for any hint that he is taking things too far. Satisfied that things are okay, he allows his lips to follow. Gerard's skin is hot and pliant under his increasingly desperate touches and he cannot help but notice the small needy noises slipping from Gerard's lips. He feels so good like this, soft even though the slight hesitance is there; better than times when he is older and Frank's fingers can tap down the notches in his spine like keys on a piano. He wants to tell him that he would never leave, not over something like this. Not over anything. Not if he can help it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies on the lack of update, University owns our souls. Thank you to everyone who reads for being so patient, we really appreciate it. 
> 
> Any comments / con-crit very welcome either here or on the chapter posted at:  
> http://0-mutiny-0.livejournal.com
> 
> Thanks <3


	11. Division XI

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “So basically I'm gonna wake up in some random country, where no-one speaks English and hope I run into you?”

He comes to very disorientated with a pounding headache. It is too warm and the cobbles underneath him are uncomfortable. Something doesn't feel right but he can't place it as he quickly drags some guy into the alley way and strips him of his clothes and wallet. The old man is about his height, and his clothes smell of sweat and motor oil.

He pulls a face as he quickly tugs the white shirt and corduroy pants on, flicking the suspenders up to at least hold the pants on his slim hips. He does not allow feelings of remorse to come into the simple action as he tugs the cap lower over his head, leaving the man behind him, passed out cold.

The sun is too bright and in his eyes, forcing him to squint. He finds himself opposite a large structure, painted beige, running over a river. It is crowded and it takes him a second to realize that the clamour he is hearing is not in English. He does his best not to panic and picks up a swift pace along the river side, narrowly dodging other pedestrians and weird small cars. It is the lamp posts that capture his immediate interest. They are installed on three small feet which make them appear to have the ability to, without a moment’s hesitation, scurry away. The river itself is dirty and a strange, thick, green colour, its banks lined with tall colourful apartments. It is even hotter in the direct sunlight and he starts to make sense of the language that is being spoken. It's Italian. He is so fucked. He distantly remembers his mom's aunt coming over and speaking in a very similar accent. He swallows hard against the memory as his heart beats uncomfortably in his chest. The road up ahead seems to lead eventually to another bridge and appears less promising for answers, so he turns back.

The heat and the crowds prove to be too much as he heads down a street opposite the larger bridge. He continues to scan the crowd hopefully, eventually stopping to inspect the man’s wallet. It has a few Euros in it, nothing huge, and an old faded picture of a lady who must be his wife. Someone smacks into him, sending the wallet almost flying from his hands. He swears loudly as the person apologizes in English, pats him on the shoulder and strolls ahead in front of him, faded red hair a tangled mess.

“Fucking pompous asshole,” Frank mutters and stashes the wallet away as the guy who just ran into him pauses outside a store, turning around enough so he can see his familiar face through breaks in the crowd. His heart leaps and a weirdly excited feeling fills him as he breaks into a run after the man.

He yells out and begs the man to turn around before he is able to get his arms firmly around him in a tight hug.

“Frankie! You made it!” Gerard yells in his ear, hugging back eagerly. He smells good. Like cigarettes, coffee and freshly washed clothes. His embrace is intensely relieving and fills Frank with a giddy happiness. He feels so good against him that he never wants to let go and buries his face against him. It feels like for once things might be alright. He asks where they are when he is finally able to drag himself off the older man, looking at him with amazement.

Gerard gives a shrug, clearly trying to act like it’s not a big deal when he states, “Florence.” 

“Huh...” is all Frank can manage to utter as his eyes glance around at the crowded streets and back towards the large bridge over the river.

Gerard's hand still around him squeezes gently as he mumbles something about Frank saying they should travel, before quickly adding, “Well, you said me, but I figured you would make it sooner or later.”

He rolls his eyes, relieved and surprised at the amount of faith Gerard places in him time and time again. Frank cannot help the smirk that tugs at his lips as Gerard tells him that this is not the first time this has happened and that he likes the hat. Of course he likes the hat. Frank feels strangely comfortable in the clothes, something he was more than used to wearing when he was younger. It's a total mind fuck to think that he should be, by all rights dead or pushing over into the hundreds, but instead he is here, in Italy, with Gerard who is wearing a stupid jacket and an even more stupid expression on his face. It's an expression that screams relief and amusement. He can't help but marvel at the shock of faded red hair that Gerard is now sporting. It is messy and almost too bright against the backdrop of the city's muted summer, making him seem so much younger than the thirty-odd years Frank thinks he is. He thinks this is the best thing to happen so far in his life, and he's only been there fifteen minutes at best.

Gerard grabs his hand and leads him back down the street towards the crowded bridge, telling him that they are going to find food but he has clothes for him if he wants to change. It is then that Frank notices the backpack and is surprised. Not just the fact that the older man is wearing a backpack, but a backpack of clothes in case _he_ turns up. The thought does funny things to his stomach.

Gerard flippantly mentions that he has been carrying them around for three days in case he shows up and Frank feels like he's been hit by a train. It's too much. Especially after the last few days... weeks? He feels like he can't breathe properly as Gerard tugs him along the busy street and across the bridge. Gerard is still rambling over the noise of vespas and loud Italians and even louder tourists. He catches the word _gelato_ and practically yells that they should get some. It seems like a good distraction from both the heat and the stupid surge of emotions twisting in his stomach. He grips Gerard's hand, twisting their fingers together against the push of the early afternoon crowd. 

The bridge itself is lined with shops, canvas awnings in shades of green and beige sheltering them from the baking sun. He mentions how busy and loud it is as they work their way past small jewelers stores, pearls, diamonds and cameos proudly on display. Gerard gives a laugh and gestures around stating, “It's the Ponte Vecchio,” like it apparently explains everything. They slow their pace for a second as the shops give way to a view across the river and Gerard adds, “It's beautiful,” and slides his arm around Frank's waist, pulling their bodies closer together. Frank doesn't miss the awe in his voice or the pleased and fulfilled expression in the simple words.

“Yeah, beautiful...” he echoes, glancing across to the terracotta pink and yellow apartments that line the river. He knows he looks stupid, but the moment is so unbelievable. He never though he would ever get to see places like this, to smell and feel them for himself. He never even considered it a possibility and had pretty much resigned himself to the monotony that is Jersey and New York. It is stupidly surreal and he wishes Gerard would punch him or something. But the way Gerard's grip on him feels, mixed in with the almost oppressive heat, is reassurance enough that he is not dreaming.

“Oh my god! You're... how old are you?” Gerard's voice breaks through his thoughts as his hand immediately traces over Frank's right arm.

Frank shrugs, he was never really good at remembering his age. “Twenty-four?” he hazards. It's about right, give or take a year. “Why, how old are you?”

Gerard laughs and pushes his sunglasses back up his upturned, narrow nose, remarking that he thought Frank looked a little younger; that he usually sees him with both full arm sleeves, before adding that he is thirty three. His answer is somewhat surprising, but as Frank peers closer he can see the lines around the older man’s mouth from too many cigarettes, and knows underneath the sunglasses his hazel eyes have small creases at the corners.

“Ha! You're old!” He states with a grin and watches as his lover pouts and protests, asking if he wants gelato or not. Frank quickly kisses his cheek, feeling a slight roughness of stubble scrape against his lips and tells him fervently, “Yes!”

He can feel Gerard's grin against his lips as he tells him that he is really sexy for an old man. The jacket and tight black jeans are totally impractical in the heat but they are clean and the way they hug the older man’s frame is enough to make Frank want to drag him somewhere not so public and rip them from him. It's been a while since he has gotten laid or even been able to jerk off and right now he's pretty sure he'd happily take _anything_ Gerard was offering. Good jackets and clean clothes or not.

“Yeah? Good to know,” the older man replies as they continue walking, his voice betraying a slight discomfort at getting old. Frank just gives him a reassuring ass squeeze and asks if he had just flown in from New York or if he has been to other amazing places. Color quickly creeps up onto Gerard's defined cheeks as he replies that he has been in France and that he had lost Frank in Rome a week ago.

“Rome huh?” Frank questions, his mind filled with images from an old book his mother kept in the bottom shelf in the lounge room bookshelf. “Was I older? Did I make rude comments about Trajan's column?”

Gerard grins widely, his small, neat teeth showing. Frank is struck by the desire to map them with his tongue before thinking about how good Gerard is with his mouth, especially around his cock. He tries to pay attention as Gerard rambles about how huge the city is, how amazing it was and how Frank was thirty and the one he most commonly sees.

“Thirty?” Frank asks, sort of appalled when he is finally able to stop imagining Gerard on his knees in front of him, his tongue doing that awesome flicky thing that makes him come harder than fourth of July fireworks.

“Oh come on, it's not _that_ old. It's the new twenty,” Gerard tells him confidently.

He laughs loudly and replies, “Yeah, for trees.”

Frank is rewarded by a sharp prod in his ribs causing him to squirm as Gerard calls him an asshole and tells him to shut the fuck up. In Frank's mind the only acceptable way to deal with this is to remind the older man how much he loves Frank and his twenty four year old arse. Once again, his ribs are assaulted by Gerard's surprisingly strong and nimble fingertips, pushing him closer to the edge of the bridge.

“Don't throw me in the river!” he begs, trying to shove back from the impeding barrier.

“Begging won't do you much good. Besides I have plans for you and your twenty four year old arse,” Gerard replies and steers them inside a small store, pushing his sunglasses up and asking Frank what he wants. Frank's eyes struggle to adjust to the darker interior of the shop, when he does he realizes everything is in Italian and he really has no idea what it all means.

“It's all in Italian...” he whispers loudly to Gerard, eying the steel containers of frozen goodness, before pointing and asking “What's this one?”

Gerard smirks, clearly enjoying the upper hand and loudly whispers back condescendingly, “That's vanilla with chocolate chips.”

“And that one?”

“Pistachio” Gerard replies, his breathy voice brushing closer to Frank's ear in a way that makes him shudder. “Don't do it... you'll like this one.”

Frank is really unsure where this Gerard came from but as the Italian flows from his mouth he cannot help but stare and wish they really weren't somewhere so public, as he can feel himself starting to strain against the second-hand pants. He watches as his lover's mouth fits so perfectly around the foreign words and cannot help but be amazed and slightly amused at the Jersey twang still clinging to his voice.

“What is it?” he asks when the small cardboard cup is handed to him along with a tiny bright green plastic spoon, to which Gerard grins and tells him it’s basically coffee. He grins back and quickly shoves a spoonful into his mouth, moaning loudly as the coolness and flavor floods his tongue, setting his teeth on edge. He would almost go as far to say this is better than blow jobs and rim jobs combined and voices this loudly as they exit the store back into the blinding sun and noise. Almost. Gerard's sunglasses are back down on his face so he can't see his eyes but the way the older man's hand slides across and grips softly at his ass before settling on his waist indicates he heard the pre-orgasmic moan Frank just uttered. Just for good measure he gives another one.

“That good?” Gerard asks him with a smirk as his fingers dip slightly against his waist band. Frank nods enthusiastically, shoving another spoonful in before it all melts in the heat.

“You... speaking Italian... fuck,” he offers, blinking slightly. He is now well on the way to be fully aroused and has to picture his grandmother to stop from baring up fully.

Gerard laughs, retracting his hand after one last tease and tells him, “That's all I've got baby. I'd love to talk dirty to you in Italian, but all I know how to do is order coffee and coffee flavored gelato.”

He cannot help the giggle that slips out as he watches Gerard suck some of the dark colored ice cream off his blue plastic spoon. “Even that gets me hard,” he openly admits.

It is Gerard's expression and the way he sort of stutters and stumbles asking, “Yeah?” that has him replying with a very earnest, “Fuck yeah,” before fisting his shirt and kissing him hard, tasting the  sweetness of the gelato against the heat of the older man’s mouth as his tongue surges into his mouth. He moans as Gerard's tongue circles his and feels him press their bodies together. They finally break, panting slightly, cups of gelato ignored. Or rather, in Frank's case, thrown over the side of the bridge.

Frank is about to open his mouth to say something along the lines of, “Lets fuck right now. I don't care who sees,” when Gerard makes a pleased noise is his throat and utters lowly “Mmm, well, _signore_ , shall we go back to our room?”

“ _Si_ ” Frank quickly replies and kisses him again for good measure. Because _yes_ , fuck yes. Their hands rejoin as Gerard quickly throws his cup into a bin.

“You taste like coffee,” the older man remarks as their mouths meet and break again.

“And you taste like awesome,” Frank replies before mentally smacking himself. Taste like awesome? Wow. He knew he wasn’t eloquent at the best of times but that was just downright dumb. But apparently his regression to being a thirteen year old matters not to Gerard who grins and picks up their pace across the bridge.

When Gerard finally pulls out a familiar but battered packet of cigarettes, Frank thinks he might actually die from love and quickly snags one with a badly accented, “ _Grazie_ ” and lights up.

He is inhaling deeply as Gerard laughs and asks, “You sure you don't know more of the language than I do? Cause if you were holding out on me all through Rome…” Gerard pauses and leans closer. “You have gelato on your face,” he tells Frank before quickly licking it off. Frank moans loudly. He's beyond playing quiet and demands to know how far the hotel is. He can feel Gerard's grin and arousal as he huskily replies, “Not far at all. Just around the corner at the end of the bridge.”

“Thank fuck,” Frank utters and takes another deep drag as Gerard steers them through the crowd and whispers “ _Venga con me_.”

The phrase is a familiar one and he can vaguely remember hearing it said a few times from his aunt whilst in the supermarket. So either Gerard is asking him to follow him or he needs to buy a dozen tomatoes. Frank's going to trust his first thought here and is reassured by Gerard's arm around him once more.

“ _Ti amo_ ,” he whispers in his ear as they cross the road. In the distance he can make out what he thinks may be the Duomo and a few hundred pigeons in flight. It's stupidly perfect and he cannot help but press another kiss to Gerard's eager lips.

“See! You do know lots of Italian!” the older man replies before biting his bottom lip slightly and ducking his head. “But, ah... _Ti amo troppo_.”

Frank tilts his head to the side, watching as a small blush creeps onto Gerard's cheeks before his lover is bending down and kissing his temple, providing the translation to something Frank could more than guess at.

“I love you too.”

 

*

 

Frank fidgets in the elevator, absentmindedly hooking his thumbs into the suspenders and stretching them. Gerard squeezes his hand reassuringly and asks if he is okay. He pulls a face and mumbles, “I dislike this elevator…” as it makes strange clunking noises that do nothing to reassure him that they won't plummet to their deaths.

“I dislike all elevators, but from one smoker to another, eight flights of stairs is a bitch,” Gerard says, smiling crookedly with his sunglasses pushed up on his head exposing a good half inch of regrowth in shades of brown. Frank just focuses on breathing and escapes the second the doors slide open on the eighth floor of the old hotel. Gerard leads the way with a small jerk of his head and pulls out his key to the hotel room. “What's going on, Frankie?” he asks, concern tainting his voice. Frank rolls his eyes and jumps up and down a little. Gerard continues to look worried and hesitates with opening the door.

“I need to pee. Open the damn door already,” Frank states, rocking back and forth a little, unsure how much longer he can take Gerard messing around and doing everything but open the door. The red-head laughs and opens it, holding it wide open as Frank rushes past him into the room.

“On the left,” Gerard calls out when Frank looks mildly confused at the layout before taking his advice and trying the door on the left.

After he is done finally relieving himself he washes his hands, glancing up at the his reflection in the mirror. He has dirt or something smeared on one cheek and looks like shit. He scrubs at whatever it is on his cheek, frowning slightly before stripping off and turning the tap on for the shower. He climbs in once the water has reached a bearable temperature and proceeds to fiddle with the knob until it is hot enough to undo the mess of knots in his shoulders. The pounding water feels good against his neck and shoulders as he braces himself with one hand in the tiled shower box. Curious, he undoes the lids of the various bottles already lining the small shelf and smells them, humming quietly the Misfit's _Astro Zombies_ when it works its way into his brain without explanation. Suddenly the curtain is pulled back and he flails in surprise, swearing loudly at the sudden intrusion. Gerard grins and giggles a little before asking if he can join him. The older man is already naked and Frank cannot help his eyes roaming and searching over his body, mapping the changes as the hot water pours over him. This Gerard in front of him has put on a little more weight. It clings to his hips and waist, softening him. It is strange to see him naked at this age without a hard on and Frank is glad the water is as hot as it is so Gerard cannot see the blush that creeps over his cheeks. Instead Gerard grabs one of the bottles off the tiny shelf and begins to swirl the citrus smelling gel over Frank's chest and arms. It feels so good that he cannot help but arch into the touch and mutter, “Fuck, I've missed this.”

It's completely an understatement of how he really feels but he cannot think of anything better as Gerard's fingers begin to rub at the tension in his neck. He lets a soft moan slip from his lips before lathering his own hands up and running them over Gerard's chest, feeling the very few hairs that grace him there. The older man sighs happily, but rather than closing his eyes he lets them trail over Frank, who states with shining eyes “… We're in Florence…”

He almost expects to be chastised for the comment, but Gerard just grins and nods before kissing him openly without hesitation before telling him, “It's not your last trip away with me, either.”

Frank cross questions him, demanding to know where else, as his hands fan out and tease under the hot pressure of the water. The older man seems too familiar with this particular game and is halfway through telling him about Rome before stuttering to a stop with a smirk and telling him that he can wait and see.

“You're mean,” Frank states, pouting and tempted to retract his tracing hands lingering on Gerard's soft and yielding skin.

Gerard's solution is to capture his lips once again, murmuring, “You do it to me all the time, baby.”

It is true, but hardly seems fair from this end of the conversation and Frank is certain he would really not like to go to some of the third world countries an older Gerard has mentioned a few times. Something about humid tropics and hundreds of mosquitoes. He shudders slightly, both at the thought and the way Gerard is now licking around his mouth.

“I only did it to save you from yourself,” Frank tells him as they break to breathe and adjust the water temperature. He is half hard already but the shower box is too small for their usual antics. Confined and pressing against each other he whispers, “ _Ti desidero molto_ ,” as Gerard's teeth graze his throat. He is pressed against the shower’s wall with rushed abandon, their mouths meeting in a clash of tongues and teeth.

“I don't know what that means exactly,” Gerard pants into his mouth, “But I think I get the idea.”

Frank cannot help the whimper that slips out of his mouth as he feels the older man grind against him, hard and eager. “It means I want you,” he grits out as he feels a hand wrap securely around his now completely hard cock, like his body’s reaction isn't proof enough, “and we should take this out of the shower before we drown.”

Gerard laughs, breathy and heavy sounding, then strokes him a few times, his grip verging on a desperate strength as he continues to kiss Frank hard before breaking apart and nodding. Frank misses his touch immediately and clambers quickly out, tugging a towel free from the pile on the shelf. He dries quickly. Ordinarily he wouldn't care, but otherwise they will have to sleep in a damp bed come the evening. He is momentarily proud of his forethought. “I learnt that one off some guy in a bar,” he tells Gerard with a shrug, handing him his own towel.

“You… of course you did,” Gerard replies with a roll of his eyes, rubbing the towel briskly through his hair causing it to stick up at odd angles.

Frank grins as his stomach fills with a strange sensation as he flippantly tells the older man “Whatever, you love it.”

Gerard cups his face, angling it up and presses a soft kiss to both of his flushed cheeks. “I love _you_ ,” he admits earnestly before Frank can stand it no longer and manhandles them both onto the bed.

They fuck hard; restless and full of need. Breaking apart only to get lube out of Gerard's overflowing suitcase, their hands and bodies moving furiously against each other in the mid day heat. Sweat rolls from Frank's skin as his hands grip Gerard's hips, his head thrown back against the overly stuffed pillows as the headboard bangs loudly against the wall. He watches, panting with exertion as Gerard rides him, knuckles white as they grasp for support on Frank's shoulders. Coherent thoughts be damned as he thrusts up, a mixture of curses and Gerard's name spilling from his open lips, which the older man quickly captures in his own slick mouth. Neither of them last long and as Frank wipes them up using one of the discarded towels from the bathroom, he figures that it really doesn't matter as he's pretty sure he'll be ready to go again in two minutes.

They lay down in the stuffy room, half curling around each other as the sweat slowly dries on them and their breathing gradually returns to normal. Gerard reaches across and lights a cigarette for them to share as Frank employs his hands in mapping out every surface of his lover he can reach. It seems so strange to be here, in Italy of all places. A small part of him wishes they were back in New York or even Jersey, just for the familiarity and things not covered in floral, pastel colors. But the way Gerard beams down at him, content, makes him realize that this is all he needs to feel safe. The cigarettes make him feel brave and he ends up talking, spilling about how strange it was to see Gerard and Mikey that young, but comforting at the same time. He cannot bring himself to talk about Jamia however, not just yet. The conversation lulls as he traces over the recent tattoo on Gerard's body, marking him but making him nothing less than perfect. He stubs out the last of the French cigarette into the ashtray and curls back around him.

“So basically I'm gonna wake up in some random country, where no-one speaks English and hope I run into you?”

“Well, think of it this way,” Gerard replies with a knowing grin. “In a little more than five of your years, you and I will be roaming the Paris streets, hand in hand, and then a year or so later, I will be bringing you croissants in bed in Rome.”

“You mean croissants in Paris, you have pizza in Rome,” he giggles in reply, lacing their hands together. The thought of doing this again and again makes him dizzy with excitement and happiness, like it was the night before Halloween or Christmas.

Gerard shakes his head and brings their conjoined hands up, pressing a kiss to them. “No, you took a liking to them. I found you croissants in Rome too.”

They both laugh before discussing all the things to do in Florence. Frank has a sneaking suspicion that Gerard has visited most, if not all the galleries and museums and hopes that he will not get too bored as they play tourist.

They end up on the small balcony, overlooking the city and trading relaxed caresses. It doesn't, however, take very long before he is crowding against Gerard and covering his mouth with his. The careful touches become more heated, hands and bodies sliding against each other with want and midday sweat. It takes all his willpower not to just thrust against the older man and stripe his come across his soft, pale stomach.

“Frankie…” Gerard whispers, his voice raw but cautious. “Would it be okay… can I…?” He leaves the question hanging but his intentions are made more than obvious in the way that his hands are gripping Frank's ass, spreading him a little. He sucks in a sharp breath and nods. It's been a while since he has done this, but standing there with Gerard holding him like he is, he finds himself aching for it. He feels Gerard swallow hard before capturing him in a searing kiss, his hard cock digging into his hip. A small part of him hates that the older man has to ask if it is okay to fuck him. Granted, he has been hesitant in the past to do so, but it seems a bit off still, especially considering how _cautious_ he is in asking. He lets the thought go and concentrates instead on the way that Gerard is turning him around to face out over the city and licking up the back of his neck and over the tattoos there. His breath comes in quick huffed successions as his hands grip the balustrade, craving instead the chance to touch Gerard. He needs this, more than anything: the feeling of Gerard wrapped around him, holding him close, his teeth grazing against his too sensitive skin.

The city is spread out in front of him, hazy in the heat that reflects off the terracotta roofs. It's breathtaking and almost too much to process and he cannot help but whine as Gerard's mouth is removed from him for a second. He pushes back against him needily when there are suddenly slick fingers slipping between his ass cheeks and teasing at his hole. The low moan that escapes him sounds embarrassing to his own ears. He wants this so badly, even though he knows the discomfort will be pretty intense. The tip of the first finger starts to press home as Gerard's hot mouth returns to his ear to whisper roughly, “Tell me if it's too much.”

Frank can't help but shiver against the voice and grit his teeth at the sudden intrusion. It is the strangest feeling of being full and uncomfortable but longing for more. He gives a small nod and hisses as the first knuckle slides in and Gerard crooks it experimentally. Swallowing hard he squeezes his eyes shut and gives his failing erection a few quick strokes. He wants to tell him to stop and finds his body responding by pulling away further from his pressing fingers. Gerard pauses, shushes and whispers softly, “It's okay baby,” and “you're doing so good.” It's vaguely reassuring and he tries to focus on the sounds of the city beneath him instead of the awkward intrusion. He allows the bustle of traffic and the cooing of pigeons to wash over him and for a moment he forgets that they are standing on a balcony doing this. The small breeze is refreshing on his too-warm skin and he finds himself pulling away and off Gerard. He drags in a deep breath, missing the feeling of having something in him immediately.

“Bed,” he states, grabbing his hand and dragging him back indoors to the tangled mess of blankets and sheets. He lies down quickly, grabbing one of the pillows to shove under his hips. He remembers how Gerard had taught him this, that it makes things easier. He wants to see his face as he enters him, drawing out pleasure from him. He wants to see his expression as he sinks deeply inside him and moves, thrusting against him, wrapped around his hardened cock. Gerard is not nervous and his eyes are dark with want and desire as he kneels between Frank's spread legs.

“Fuck me,” Frank commands, wriggling against the too empty feeling. Gerard hesitates for a second before and sitting up, spreading the lube generously over his twitching full cock. Frank gets a little distracted by the way Gerard tips his mess of faded red hair back, his mouth slack with small moans slipping out as he strokes surely. Frank can feel himself get harder at the sight and apprehension. The weird fluttering in his stomach won't settle and when Gerard lines himself up, he can't help but breathe a quick, “I love you.”

The blunt press of the head of him entering is almost more than Frank can handle, his fingers digging hard into Gerard's pale shoulders. He tries to slow his breathing and squeezes his eyes shut. He can feel the way Gerard suddenly freezes and can almost taste his worry and concern. He summons as much willpower as he can and rolls his hips upwards, encouraging him to keep going. It's unnervingly uncomfortable and he tries to breathe through it. Only when Gerard sinks balls deep into him does he hear a low moan escape his lips. He moves his legs up, digging his heels into Gerard's lower back and kisses him with as much force as he can. Everything is so overwhelming, the close press of Gerard's body against him, his slick open mouth kisses and his stuttering hips, driving him deeper. His mind whites out as they begin to move with each other. He tangles his fingers in Gerard's hair, keeping his face close, watching as a hand wraps itself around his half hard cock. The shock of pleasure is overwhelming and he finds himself crying out loudly, echoing in the decorated room.

“Love you,” Gerard pants.

“Always. Fuck,” Frank replies, his voice wrecked and head spinning. He tries to hold himself back, but the combined sensations prove overwhelming and he comes hard between them with a mixture of curses and Gerard's name. The older man just holds him closer, stealing the words and whimpers from his lips. His thrusts speed up, his hands bruising themselves into his shoulder and ribs. He whispers Frank's name over and over until his hips stutter and he spills into him with a drawn out cry. Frank places soft, sweeping kisses to his slightly rough cheek as Gerard collapses down onto him, nose buried in his neck. They breathe together for a moment, savoring the closeness, until Gerard pulls out with a low groan. Frank tries not to wince at the sensation and emptiness that hits him and wriggles out, half stumbling to the bathroom. He runs the shower again, shifting awkwardly with the stiffness in his limbs and the mess running down the back of his legs. He cleans himself up as best as he can, pulling a face at the slight pain in doing so.

“You okay?” Gerard asks, startling him.

Frank swears before nodding and dragging him into the shower for the second time that day. It is reassuring to have him back in his arms with the hot water pounding over their sated skin.

“I'm so glad you're here, Frankie, it isn't as good here without you,” the older man admits as they finally dress in the cooling afternoon, after getting each other off with hands and mouths for the  third and fourth time. Frank grins back at him, stating that he is magic and makes sure Gerard promises to do all the tourist things so he can send pictures to his mom and Mikey. The older man pulls a face before dragging them down the stairs in search of more gelato.

 

Apparently Frank has serious competition in Italy as he watches the guy grin at Gerard whilst handing over their partially frozen dessert. He watches as their hands brush and almost snaps. He distracts himself by making grabby hands towards the small cup and shooting the guy behind the counter a very clear _don't fuck with me_ look.

He tells Gerard about it as they head back out into the noise and bustle. The older man laughs at his concerns especially when Frank cries, “I'm only less than a quarter Italian. I have competition here, seriously, have you seen their asses?! And their hair?! And that tan?!” he shakes his head muttering, “My New Jersey-ness is overwhelming,” as Gerard gives him a small whack and tells him to stop looking at other men's arses. He knows he is being irrational but it still sets him on edge the way people stare at Gerard like he is the most exotic thing… Which, okay. But it makes him want to mark him in some more distinctive way so that people know that he is his, more so than he already is.

The next day as they seek shelter and some sort of food, is just as bad. As they are seated outside, Frank cannot help but see the look one of the waiters is giving Gerard as he shrugs his too warm jacket off and throws it across the back of his chair with a fluid sweeping motion. His long fingers splay out as he brushes at the fabric and wiggles a little to make his weirdly formal shirt sit comfortably. Okay, so Frank gets the look, he does. That doesn’t mean he appreciates it coming from some tall, dark and handsome Italian waiter man. So he glares and mutters, “I’m right here, you know,” which, luckily enough Gerard doesn’t hear as he takes his seat, looking at Frank expectantly. And, alright, he is standing there, glaring like an idiot for, according to Gerard who didn’t even see the look he was given, no apparent reason. The older man prattles something off in Italian to the smiling waiter man who hands them menus. Frank watches, eyes narrowed as waiter man's smile just gets wider and more… suggestive as he starts to back away slowly from their table, his eyes not leaving Gerard.

“Fuck, I'm right here!” he yells, instantly regretting the volume at which he does so as several other patrons swivel round to stare. Waiter man's jaw drops a little and his eyes move away from Gerard for the first time since the two of them set foot in the restaurant. But Frank can only bask for a moment before he notices Gerard's face. The older man's deep hazel eyes are wide but he looks as though he is about to start laughing manically.

It is only when they are in the Uffizi that Gerard gets a taste of what is currently being dealt out. He, predictably, had too much coffee and has gone in search of a bathroom, leaving Frank staring at several very large oil paintings of the Madonna. After a few minutes he is approached by some tall guy with impressively controlled hair and a name badge that states that he works there. Frank finds himself lulled into a conversation about representations of the virgin. It's a bit weird given that the only person he has ever really talked “art” to is Gerard, but the guy seems genuinely interested in what he is saying and the depiction on his arm. Before he can get a word out, the guy's – Antonio's, or so his name badge states – hand is brushing over the lines and color there.

Suddenly Gerard is right beside him, his arm firmly gripping around Frank's waist possessively as he kisses his slightly rough, sun drenched cheek. Frank jumps a little in surprise but gives his lover a wide grin.

“Oh, you're here with someone?” Antonio asks, his eyes flicking over Gerard.

Frank colors a little, knowing how bad things could have looked. He nods quickly and introduces Gerard, feeling the way he squeezes his waist slightly before shaking the hand extended to him. Frank quickly squashes the jealously that flairs up when Antonio quickly leans forward, hand still gripping Gerard's and brushes his lips over the older man's cheeks. Frank really hopes that this issue of personal space they seem to be experiencing in Italy isn't mirrored in Paris or anywhere else. He doesn't want to be bailed out of jail in a foreign country because he got in fisticuffs with a local.

“Your Frank is very interesting, what do you do Gerard?”

Frank smirks as Gerard's eyes narrow a little, finally getting what he has been telling him all along. He watches as the older man bites his lips and desperately searches for an answer that won't make him sound like a pretentious faggot.

“Gerard is a painter,” Frank supplies and Antonio promptly launches them into a discussion about visiting the Guggenheim in Venice and the promise of a tour guide/dinner date if they would like. In the end they leave with Antonio's number and name on the back of a card and a lying promise to call.

“Are you jealous, Gerard Way?” Frank asks, smirking as Gerard grasps their hands a little too tightly together. He doesn't really expect him to admit it but he does so freely and additionally expresses that he is very glad Frank did not admit to the overly friendly Italian that he is in fact exhibiting at the Guggenheim. He also admits that he was a little upset that Frank was “talking art” without him, to which Frank promptly drags him off to have Gerard explain to him why the Renaissance painters all showed baby Jesus as a weird old man in infant size.

It seems the day for uncomfortable interactions with the locals as both Gerard and Frank are proposed to in order to secure green cards to the US. When the woman drops to her knees, holding the artist's hands in supplication, Frank is a little taken aback and laughs loudly before the woman's boyfriend comes over, whispers loudly in Italian and promptly winks at Gerard and tries the same with Frank. He wonders if living in the States is really that amazing, or if this beautifully tanned couple are really that sick of living in a fairytale city. He knows living here must be hard, the sheer number of gypsies around seems testament to that, but never has he been publicly proposed to just because he is American. They politely tell them no and make hurried excuses to escape.

Later that evening as they are seated for dinner up a cobblestone alleyway blessedly hidden from the bustle, they laugh about it, smoking the last of Gerard's french cigarettes; their knees brushing under the table. Frank leers suggestively when the waitress brings two glasses of wine to their table.

“You trying to get me drunk, Gee?”

Gerard looks a little confused. “No, what? I just got glasses, not a bottle.” It takes Frank's brain a second to play catch up. He freezes slightly, his breath hitching as he asks if one is for Gerard. “Yeah,” The older man replies, like it is no big deal and holds the glass up with a smile tugging at one side of his mouth. “Cheers.”

Frank's hand shoots out and forces Gerard's back down to the table, not caring that the dark liquid sloshes up, dangerously close to spilling. “Gerard! What the fuck are you doing?” he whispers harshly, deeply afraid and angry. How could he do this? After all that he, all that _they_ have been through? Gerard looks confused and a little hurt. “You… when the _fuck_ did you start _drinking_ again?!”

The older man opens and closes his mouth a few times in a way that in any other moment would have had Frank in hysterics. “No, hey, it's not like that!” he quickly replies, sliding his hand off the glass and gripping Frank's shaking fingers instead, “I'm not _drinking_ drinking. There's no being drunk, there's no pills or anything. Shit, I didn't think this… I've been so much better. I don't _need_ it now.”

Frank pulls his hand back as though Gerard's touch burns him. It is too much to take in and he feels sick. He doesn't know if he can go through this again, even though he probably could, hell, he'd give the man in front of him a million chances and put up with pretty much any state or skin he was in if it meant he could stay. But there is no denying that it hurts.

“When the fuck did this start?” he demands, watching as Gerard winces and pulls back a little, still reaching out for his hand.

“Just over a year ago,” the older man replies carefully, his hazel eyes wide with honesty and begging for understanding. Only when Frank crosses his arms, making it abundantly clear that he doesn't not want to be touched, not right then, does Gerard slowly retract his hand. “I needed to not be so hard on myself anymore. I didn't and I don't need to drink, having all of those restrictions wasn't doing anything.”

“Wasn't doing what? Helping? So you thought drinking again would?” Frank asks, not really listening or taking in anything in. It seems completely crazy and makes him almost want to punch the man in front of him for being so stupid and uncaring.

“No! Shit, you're not listening here,” Gerard states, gripping the edge of the table a little.

He reels back though when Frank bites harshly back, “So fucking sue me!” There's a long pause where they stare at each other, expressions slowly shifting in the dying light of the evening. “Tell me,” Frank states after a minute. “Tell me how it is, tell me that it's not like I have been up all hours rubbing your back as you retch and throw up? Not sleeping? Tell me it's not like I have been through all that with you for it to mean nothing to you?”

“It's not like that at all, Frankie, Please! I… every now and then, maybe once a week, I can have a glass of wine with dinner. That's all I want. I don't need it – you could take this away from me right now and I wouldn't mind. What you did for me all that time ago means everything to me, you were there when even my family wasn't. But the last five or six years, I have been better, so much better. I've been sleeping, I've been healthy. I can be almost a normal person now. I didn't want sobriety to rule my life, in some ways it was just as bad as been drunk all the time. I didn't want to feel like an alcoholic anymore.”

“Oh,” Frank says quietly, stunned, rubbing the back of his neck and flinching a little because he knows the lines of ink transcribed back there tell him to _Keep the Faith_.

“Do you want me to get the guy to take them back? I will if you do,” Gerard offers earnestly but Frank shakes his head, feeling like the biggest asshole ever. Of course Gerard is better, _of course_ he is.

“I trust you,” he admits slowly. “So this… this is okay?”

The older man offers a small smile and tells him softly that it _is_ okay, reaching again for his hand, which he grasps. Frank hastily apologizes for over-reacting, to which Gerard shushes him.

“Don't be. It's completely understandable, and it explains why you reacted so well when I first came to you with the idea. And don't worry, I gave you full judgment over the situation. If you think it's getting bad again, I made you promise to do something straight away. So, ah… cheers?” he says hopefully, waiting for Frank to raise his glass first. After a few heartbeats he does, albeit slowly, cautiously. They clink their glasses together, toasting to overcoming past demons, and take tiny sips, Frank's eyes trained on Gerard, watching for anything that might indicate this was a bad idea, but there is nothing and he allows himself to finally relax a little. It is nice to see him move past it all, to not be affected by it. He wonders if it has really taken over twenty years for him to get to this point.

“I was actually so scared of that first glass… more scared than I'd ever been,” Gerard mentions quietly as he flicks the menu closed, his hand still clasped around Frank's.

“Was I there with you?” he asks hopefully.

The older man grins across at him in the fading light. “I wouldn't have been able to do it if you weren't.”

Frank knows it was a bad idea to drink this much, but after his second glass and half a packet of cigarettes over dinner he is feeling slightly dizzy and finds himself apologizing for not being the older him, the one that Gerard is used to hanging out with. At first the older man is confused, pausing as he lifts another forkful of lasagna.

“You're… you… I don't care how old you are,” he states with such surety. “So you're a little less tattooed and a little more tired from dealing with me when I was difficult, but I love you as much as I love you in ten years.” Frank frowns, unable to really understand why through the weird haze of wine and surreality. He knows he was like separate people to Jamia, she had told him so on a few occasions that was the case and he had grown to see people that way too. He realizes he has said this out loud when Gerard asks, surprise coloring his voice. “You see me as a different person to who I was twelve years ago? It's still me, Frank. I'm still that guy who spent two months not letting you take my shirt off when we had sex. That's still me…”

“Not different,” Frank tries to clarify. “Like, separate, 'cause I never get to see you really slowly change or whatever. All I see is ages and stages. I mean, it's your past and will be your future. It's just weird. Just forget I brought it up?”

But Gerard shakes his head a little, and puts his fork down. “Whenever I see you, no matter how old you are, you're Frank. My Frank. I wouldn't be who I am now if I didn't have you. I'd probably still be drunk, I wouldn't have gone back to SVA. I wouldn't have gotten to see Europe. I'd be alone. You made me who I am, so don't think for a minute that you don't deserve me or any of that bullshit because you deserve me just fine, thank you very much.”

Frank feels a little sick. Of course he has made him who he is, he's only known a life with a fucked up guy who visits him. He briefly considers if Gerard would be happier if they had never met, but the way the older man is smiling at him in the dusk in Florence, it makes it hard to believe, not like Jamia… Not at all…

“I'm already being drawn to random places and times, what if it gets more frequent?” he finds himself asking, finally voicing a fear that has long been on his mind, perhaps Gerard's too. He does not meet Gerard's eyes and plays nervously with the remains of the pasta in his white porcelain bowl. He is unsure how the man before him can take things so well and be so understanding. It's been overwhelming and he almost wishes they were fighting with each other. That he knows. That he can handle.

“I'm a fairly positive person now. I know you always come back. I know it sounds dumb, but I love you and I know you love me and I believe that will keep you coming back, that it will be enough. There is no point in wasting time worrying about it.” Gerard tells him confidently with a smile that should dissolve all his worries but doesn't. He quickly apologizes for making dinner weird, that he has just been struggling. It feels like the biggest understatement of his life. Things are finally good and he cannot help but push shit and strain them.

“Stop apologizing! You can talk to me whenever about anything. Seriously,” Gerard tells him, picking his fork up once more. Frank knows the conversation is done and tries to trick himself back into a better mood.

“So, Paris, Rome, Venice, Berlin and Tokyo, huh?” he asks with a grin. He had stolen a peek at Gerard's passport and travel documents when the older man was in the bathroom that morning.

“Argh! No! Stop asking!” Gerard replies with a loud laugh. “I'm not telling!”

Frank giggles in reply, giddy with wine and something stronger.

They buy more cigarettes and coffee before returning to the hotel, flinging the windows and the doors to the small balcony open to let in as much air as possible from the still night. They agree to buy a house when they return to the states, mostly to house all the dogs, which according to Gerard were now numbered at four.

The wine they drank at dinner was too strong, Frank thinks as he vomits into the toilet, feeling Gerard's cool hand gently stroking down his neck. He feels insubstantial and unable to even voice that he is going before the pain hits him like a brick wall and he is gone.

 

*

He reappears in the familiar house, noting how weird it feels to be back there so soon. He coughs a few times and only just manages to make it to the kitchen sink before vomiting once more. He vows never to drink wine again, hating the way it burns up and makes his stomach curl. Even more than that he hates the fact that he is no longer in Florence and no longer with Gerard.

“Frankie?” comes Jamia's tired voice behind him, startling him slightly. He finishes rinsing his mouth and turns his head to face her.

“Hey,” he croaks out as she wordlessly hands a pair of grey sweat pants over. They are almost identical to a pair Gerard has and he mentally cringes thinking that he knows exactly where the paint stains are on them. He almost opens his mouth to ask where she got them from as they are guy’s sweats but then he remembers about Andrew and everything makes sense, from the pants he is hurriedly sliding up his hips to the way the furniture has been moved and new pictures decorate the walls. Jamia offers him a small smile and he cannot help but notice how tired she looks. As they sit on the couch, he feels awkward and out of place in her new life, which apparently contains unvacuumed carpet and a random assortment of children’s toys and books. Huh. He supposes that she has been babysitting again for someone and is rewarded with the sound of an infant awakening upstairs. He chokes and blanches a little, trying to suppress his shock. She… no… she must be babysitting, there's no other way. She doesn't have kids. Not this young. Not ever.

“You babysitting?” he asks finally when she emerges from the spare room, the words difficult to force out.

She raises her eyebrows, her voice a little amused as she replies, “No.”

He freezes and is unable to breaths. He can feel her gaze lingering on him and finally she says with a roll of her eyes, “Don't know yet, huh?”

“…You have a kid?” he asks, really slowly, unable to comprehend the situation before him.

“Close,” she replies, stepping closer just as a single cry emits from the room, making her pause and flick her gaze back to the room. “ _We_ have _kids_ , Frank. Two girls. Twins. Elizabeth and Michelle.”

No.

“I'm sorry, what?” The words don't make sense. Not one bit, there is no way it is even possible. He feels more sick than when he arrived a few minutes ago. Maybe this is just some huge joke.

“You heard,” Jamia calls, heading back towards the room, asking a minute later if he wants to meet them. He briefly considers this is an April Fools prank like the time she tricked him into thinking that they had just eaten the placenta from when she was a baby and he had thrown up on the living room floor. But the crying continues from the room despite the soft soothing noises Jamia is making. He feels completely numb and cannot bring himself to consider that it is even possible, even when she returns to the living room and tells him again that they are his, no question about it because she wasn't even with Andrew when she got pregnant. Without realizing it he is standing at the doorway to the semi-dark room, with Jamia's hand squeezing his and telling him softly, “Come on, come see them, it's okay,” before dragging him in and pointing to each of them saying “Michelle” and “Liz” in turn.

“… Girls…” Frank says slowly, his tongue too big and tripping over inside his mouth. “Twins… we have…” Jamia nods and squeezes his hand tighter as Michelle coughs a little and wriggles. He needs to leave. He needs to get the fuck out of this situation _now_. “We don't have kids! We don't!” he practically yells, backing his way towards the front door. It's not even possible.

“I… I'm not asking anything from you, Frank, I can do this by myself. But they are your daughters. You know, for someone who claims to miss their family so much you sure as shit don't seem to want one now. Or is it because it's me? Would you like them better if they were Gerard's kids instead? Cause that can't happen Frank! The two of you _can't have kids_.” She sounds wounded and angry and he cannot help but raise his voice back at her.

“J, no, _we_ can't have kids.”

“We do though. A year ago you came back here. You were angry and upset and wouldn't talk about it and we had sex. Six weeks later I took a test and seven months after that I had twin girls.”

“Shut up!” he yells, “No! Just no!”

Jamia glares at him, standing her ground and tells him to get out, that if he doesn't want them then fine, they don't need him. “Door’s that way.”

He crumbles, barely registering the painful jarring as his knees hit the floor. He stays like that, unable to think, unable to do more than breathe in small sobs. He does not see the way Jamia's anger fades and the way she hesitantly steps closer to him, fighting with herself. All he can think of is his own father. Leaving him. Leaving their family broken. He wants to scream, to cry, to feel anything other than guilt and pain. He wants to apologize, to accept things. But he can't. The impossible has happened and he is left grasping at the pieces of his shattered life. Gerard. Oh fuck. How could he have done this? He barely remembers the night it happened too, when he thought that he had lost everything and got drunk and… fuck. Literally. After a while crying punctuates the air again and his heart tears apart. Without really thinking he is on his feet and walking into the room housing his two babies. Jamia comes in a few seconds later smelling like coffee and toast.

He looks at her and can barely understand the words slipping from his mouth. “Can I hold her?”

It is hard to miss the way Jamia's worried frown becomes a grin as she picks up one of the tiny dark haired girls, the one that is crying loudly now and hands her to him.

“'Chel, this is your dad. Be nice to him.”

Frank is surprised at the weight and warmth of the small girl in his arms, despite the tears and snot running down her chubby face she is beautiful.

“Hey pumpkin,” he chokes, gently rocking her in a way that feels instinctively right. A small part of him wonders if this was what his life had lead up to, being a dad. Being something more important than just himself for once. When he is finally able to tear his eyes away from the little miracle in his arms he sees Jamia holding Elizabeth and smiling warmly at him. He tells her that they are beautiful.

“Yeah, we did good, huh?” she replies, stepping closer and introducing Elizabeth to him. He is struck by how much she looks like Jamia, all wide brown eyes and soft cheeks. He tells her this before blowing a raspberry on them, feeling the unbelievably soft powdery skin beneath his lips.

“You looked at the little mirror in your arms there? She acts like her father too; keeps me on my toes.”

Frank pales suddenly, pressing the wriggling infant closer. “They don't… they don't time travel do they?”

Cold sweat breaks out and he is very afraid. He can barely handle the effects of time traveling, how is something so young, so vulnerable meant to… But Jamia is shaking her head quickly and tells him no. He huffs a relieved sigh and bounces Michelle. She is heavier than she looks and keeps sticking her tongue out.

“You hungry girl?” he asks with a smile. She isn't the only one apparently as Elizabeth mirrors her sisters actions.

“To the kitchen!” Jamia cries and promptly attempts to teach him everything from preparing bottles to changing diapers. It is overwhelming and he really has no idea how one little person can make such disgusting smells. He tells her as they settle them back down that everything has changed, that he needs to be there for them, that it is not fair otherwise and he is not going to do what his own father did. He cannot abandon them. It isn't their fault, but as he looks at their tired small faces he cannot bring himself to regret them.

“Be here when you can and I'll make sure they know that you're around as much as possible. I won't let them think that you have abandoned them. Not ever.” Jamia suddenly smiles in the almost cryptic way she does when she knows something blindingly obvious. “Didn't you say you've been pulled to random places you don't recognize?”

Frank swallows hard and croaks out a yes. He doesn't want to think about how he only has four more months, if that, of seeing her, of seeing his girls.

“Maybe they aren't so random after all?”

He pauses. Of course. It makes all kinds of sense now, just from that small question. Just like how it worked when he first started time traveling and being drawn to her.

“I have a family,” he says softly. “An actual family.” Jamia's hand presses on top of his, linking their fingers together over Elizabeth's soft woolen blanket.

“Yeah, you do.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> N.B: Thought it would be appropriate to put a disclaimer here stating that yes, Frank has twins in RL, but that is all we have taken. The rest is completely made up and in no way is designed or written to reflect his RL family. Apologies if this offends or upsets anyone but the twins in this are a literary construction and will continue to be in this story as original female characters as they work better for the storyline we have planned. Thank you so much to everyone who has been reading and following this story. Sorry it has taken us so long to post this chapter. We promise to get the next chapter up very soon.


	12. Division XII

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Why are we here?” Michelle demands when they finally stop outside the house.
> 
> Frank searches his brain for an acceptable answer before finally landing on “My friend Gerard lives here and one day he's going to grow up and be a famous artist.” It doesn't seem like nearly enough to sum up everything Gerard means to him but he can't bring himself to speak anymore than that. He's pretty sure the girls know why he isn't still with their mom, but he can't be one hundred percent. Knowing Jamia, she would have softened the truth and not told them about his relationship with another man instead of her. He feels oddly guilty at the thought.
> 
> “Why don't we go say hi?” Elizabeth asks brightly, already making a move to cross the road.

Frank runs. He runs away from pretty much every known place and time he is transported to. Away from Jamia, away from the twins, and away from Gerard. He cannot bring himself to face up to the commitment to the girls and what that will mean for the future – his future. He certainly cannot bring himself to talk to Gerard and face his own shortcomings, his mistakes and his lies. He feels cowardly and ashamed, sneaking away from the various homes that he is meant to share with those he loves. It is a bitter, twisted cycle, which is eventually broken when he lands in the middle of the lounge and sees Gerard jump and run to his side. Coughing and retching, he knows there is no running the minute Gerard's warm and steady hands reach him. The emotions he has been bottling up spill forth in a mess of choked sobs and harsh whispers of “No, no, no, no” and he is somehow able to make it to the bathroom sink before throwing up violently. He knows Gerard is standing behind him with an expression of concern on his young face. The thought alone makes his stomach twist harder and more painfully as his throat burns. He doesn't want to lie to him, to pretend that it is all okay when it's not, but at the same time he cannot bring himself to admit that he fucked up, quite literally.

“Frankie? What's wrong?”

 _Everything_.

He reaches out with fumbling hands to turn the faucet on, and Gerard steps closer, pressing careful fingers against his back. His touch is too warm, too reassuring, and for a minute Frank almost believes that he can tell him the truth. But instead, when Gerard asks again whilst Frank hurriedly secures a towel around his waist, he lies and says yes.

It takes a few moments, but eventually Gerard calls him out on it and begs for the truth. It is getting late and as they cocoon themselves in their bedroom, Frank cannot help but notice how crestfallen his lover looks.

"I wish you wouldn't lie to me, you know you can tell me anything," Gerard says weakly, his nimble fingers picking at the comforter. Frank doesn't meet his eyes, and he feels sick for making him Gerard feel like this, like he has to doubt _them_. But why wouldn't he? It's not like he hasn't lied to him for years about Jamia. _Jamia_. Fuck. _Twins_. He swallows hard and tugs Gerard into his arms.

“What? I can't cuddle you with you thinking that something’s wrong? I'm fine, seriously.”

Gerard shakes his head a little. “You can, but... I dunno, you seem upset or something? Whatever it is, you know you can talk to me, right? I wanna know.”

Frank hugs him tighter in a way he hopes will be reassuring. He doesn't want to remember the past few weeks, let alone talk about them. He spins some half-truth about where he has been, hoping that Gerard will buy it and drop the subject so that they can resume something _normal_. Naturally, Gerard tells him that he's full of shit.

“I don't know what could be so bad that you don't wanna tell me. Is it about us? Did I screw up something in our future?”

Frank feels sick hearing those words leave Gerard’s mouth. He wants to tell him so badly, to feel some form of comfort and support even though he doesn’t deserve it. Not in a hundred lifetimes. He hates that Gerard assumes that he is the problem, that he is the one that who’s messed up, which is never the case. Frank cannot help but wonder what consequences of his misguided and selfish actions will be, and whether it will be enough to make Gerard leave him for good. The thought alone makes him queasy, and makes him question how long he can run from this. He gets as far as “No! You didn't, I...” before the words freeze in his throat, and instead of telling the truth, he lies instead and says that it’s nothing. It gets him nowhere as Gerard demands answers, a hurt, begging tone entering his voice before the more aggressive frustration sets in.

“Fuck, Frank, if it wasn't important, if it’s really nothing like you say it is, then it wouldn't matter if you told me.”

“It _is_ nothing!” Frank practically yells in response, as if saying it louder will make it true.

“Promise me that it’s nothing for me to worry about. Promise me,” Gerard demands sternly, half bracing himself against the headboard of their bed.

Frank's grimace betrays him.

“Oh, shit, is this like... Is this to do with her? Are you... You're being pulled back to her more? You keep seeing her when she’s younger and she thinks you're still together? She's moved on and you're jealous and protective? What the fuck is it, Frank?”

“No! Nothing like that! I...” Frank trails off again. He wants to be able to meet Gerard's eyes, to reassure him, but he can't.. The truth is that it would be a hell of a lot easier if he was being pulled to her more, or if he was seeing her younger self. But he's not. Gerard's face falls and he swallows hard as if something is caught in his throat. Frank watches him blink and still suddenly before dragging in a ragged breath.

“Oh god.”

“I'm not going back to her! I won't ever be!” Frank tells him quickly, the lies slipping through his teeth almost too easily.

Gerard looks at him with a smile that is entirely miserable. “There’s only so many things that this could be about, Frankie... She's pregnant, isn't she?”

He can't breathe for a moment, everything seeming to freeze up inside him. It seems impossible that Gerard would _know_. Impossible that he could guess at the awful truth that has been haunting Frank for weeks. It takes a minute before he feels like he can respond, although he knows that Gerard will have guessed by now from his silence. “She was...”

Suddenly, Gerard is throwing his arms around Frank, and they are almost knocked back down onto the bed. “You don't have to leave me, please don't leave me.”

Frank breaks down and allows himself to surrender to the storm of emotions which has been threatening to break for weeks. “I don't want them,” he finds himself admitting. “I only want you.”

Gerard murmurs into his tightening embrace that Frank doesn't need to choose between them, that he won't make him choose, that he knows that the twins need their dad but he needs him too. Frank pulls back a little.

“You... You _knew_??”

He watches as Gerard's hand comes up to his neck, his finger tips ghosting over the tattoo there. “I thought we'd have more time before now, when I looked up Jamia when you got this...” he pauses, “I thought I'd lose you.”

Frank bats his hand away and demands to know _why_ as his breath catches more painfully in his throat. He doesn't want to be faced with Gerard's pleading hazel eyes and lopsided mouth as he tries to explain that he was irrational and thought he needed to know. That he couldn't tell him because he thought that he’d leave in a second if he did.

“They're blood. I can't compete with that,” he says with a sad shake of his head. “I couldn't lose you.”

“So you lied? All this time?” Frank knows that he is almost yelling as he gets up hastily from their bed. The truth of it all is too much. He hates that Gerard had kept something like this, something so important, from him for so long.

He watches as Gerard's eyes narrow slightly, almost challenging him as he says, “Don't pretend that you wouldn't have gone back to her if you knew.”

He opens his mouth to retort but comes up short. The horrible truth of it is that yes, yes he probably would have. Despite everything, he feels a heavy sense of responsibility for the children he has fathered. He knows that he is a coward for running away from it all, and the thought that he cannot face his own mistakes makes him sick. He tries to tell Gerard that he loves him, and only him, that he doesn't want the girls but instead he finds himself asking how old they are.

“Now?” Gerard asks hesitantly.

Frank nods slowly, but doesn’t make any move closer to him.

“Twenty-six.”

It's not the answer he was expecting, and he can’t help but swear loudly and spin around to punch at the door frame. He misses the way Gerard flinches away, and eyes him with concern. “How old are you?” he asks when he is finally able to draw in a full breath that isn’t tinged with obscenities.

“Frank...” is the only reply he receives, as if Gerard thinks he isn’t going to like the answer.

“How old are you?” Frank asks again, his hands already balled into fists, as if all of this is Gerard's fault and not his own. “Fucking answer me!”

Gerard closes his eyes and pauses for a moment before quietly answering that he is twenty four.

 _Twenty four_ , two years younger than the twins are. _Fuck_. He feels sick. He heads towards the front door. He needs some air, or something. To do something other than face the reality that Gerard had _lied_ to him for so long.

“Frank?”

He pauses for a second, his hand gripping the door handle too tightly.

“I... will you be back?” It is the unsure and slightly afraid tone in Gerard's voice calling out to him that makes him turn around and head back in to the room. As much as he wants to run away again, he can't leave like this.

“I don't know what to do,” he admits as he sits down on their bed, trying to swallow down the waves of emotion that finally threaten to overcome him. He feels Gerard move cautiously towards him, and does not hesitate to embrace him. It does little to ease the guilt that stirs in his gut, though . He only just manages to decipher the mumbled “neither do I” pressed against his throat.

“These kids,” he says slowly, “I know I should want them... but I don't. I just want you, and for things to go back to how they were.”

“What? You’re still _married_ to her? You should want them, Frankie, they're your kids. You're their dad whether you like it or not.”

Frank tries to ignore how _right_ Gerard is and almost frantically tells him that the twins were his mistake, something that never should've happened, or at least not something that Gerard should've known about. The mumbled voice continues, pressing closer.

“I don't care, Frank. They have no impact on how much I want to be with you.”

“Really?” Frank finds himself asking almost a little too harshly. “You're saying that it doesn't change anything between us?” He feels Gerard's reply more than his vocal agreement. “Then you're fucking lying to me again!” He pushes him away and moves further over on the bed as Gerard shakes his head.

“I'm not. I know this is going to be hard for you to get your head around. I went through hell when I found out, drinking and taking anything I could find to help me cope. I get that right now you say you don't want them, but you will. Fuck, I'm more comfortable that you're getting pulled to them as rather anyone else.”

Frank watches as Gerard takes a breath and drops his eyes down, as if he’s ashamed of the next words too slip easily from his lips. “I didn't know if you would you’d ever find out, and I wanted to spare you this if there was a way to. I'm sorry, I know it was a dick move and that the whole knocking up thing happened before you met me...”

Frank's mouth goes dry and he feels sick. Really sick. He wants to scream and confess the truth. That he was drunk, and it had just happened fairly recently. He draws a deep, shaky breath and doesn't admit to anything.

“I have spent _weeks_ running from this. to be honest, this isn’t what I was expecting. Why haven't you kicked my ass to the kerb? Why don't you hate me? I have _kids_ , Gerard. I don't get how you can be okay with this.”

Gerard nudges him with his knee and smiles a weird, soft smile. “Just go with it. It's better than me getting angry and running away.”

That night, Frank sneaks out of the house under the ruse of buying cigarettes and a carton of milk for breakfast in the morning, and spends the next three hours getting drunk a few blocks from home. More than anything, he wishes he could go back and tell Gerard that everything will be okay if he doesn't go back to her. If he doesn't avoid Gerard. But he knows it is impossible, and he’ll be left to deal with the two new additions in his life. As he pours the last of the vodka down his throat, wincing at the burn, he can't help but hope like hell that the twins won’t pull him to them. It is a possibility, and one that he does not really feel like entertaining as his hand clumsily grips the door knob of their home in the suburbs. He can still hear the rest of the conversation they had as they made coffee and smoked too many cigarettes.

“We should stop doing shit like this to each other. I know we're not perfect, but, fucking hell.”

“Is she – she's married right?”

“Jamia? Yeah.”

“Oh, right, of course. The last time I saw her she said she was dating someone. She told me it was over and she had moved on because I had already done the same. Said she was sick of being alone, sick of waiting... Sorry, I shouldn't -”

“Nineteen years and going strong. She's Jamia Lee now.”

“Oh, uh, good... I guess?”

Frank makes it as far as the kitchen before his head feels like it is going to explode and he vomits into the sink. After a few seconds, he hears Gerard's familiar footsteps and the light suddenly being turned on.

“Oh, wow, you're drunk, aren't you?”

“No,” he lies, gripping the sink harder than necessary to keep himself upright. The light is too bright and he has to squint across the room, barely making out the way Gerard is rolling his eyes.

“First off,” Gerard tells Frank as he sweeps him into a hug. “The way you're chucking into the sink and can't keep yourself vertical suggests otherwise. Just... just let me be here for you okay?”

Frank tries to protest, but he can't find the words or strength in his limbs to do so.

He doesn't spend nearly as much time with Gerard as he would like, and the next time he opens his eyes after everything had dissolved before them, he is sprawled naked and shivering in the yard of the home he shares with Jamia. Coughing hard, he makes his way inside, habitually hesitating at the threshold as if he shouldn’t be there. Inside, he can hear the now-familiar wails of the girls. He is about to turn and leave but Jamia's tired voice captures him.

“Oh, thank fuck you're here! Elizabeth needs changing and I can't put Michelle down.”

He looks at her, slightly bewildered. Michelle is screaming in Jamia's arms and Elizabeth is tugging at her sweats, also crying for attention. He isn't sure what he was expecting, but it sure wasn't this. Jamia still looks beautiful despite the sleepless nights clinging to her.

“Don't just stand there,” she prompts and he finally finds the will to move. Elizabeth continues to cry as he scoops her up. She is heavier than he expects, and he can feel her struggling against him.

“Change table is in the nursery,” Jamia calls out from the kitchen.

Nursery. Right.

Elizabeth wriggles and rolls around on the table the minute he sets her down, and by the time he’s fetched a nappy and found where the wipes are stashed, she has managed to get halfway down. Swearing under his breath, he wrangles her back onto the top of the table and manages to change her mildly successfully. By the time Frank has hauled her back into his arms and returned to the living room, Elizabeth is constantly yelling “No, no, no, no, no!” like her small life depends on it. Jamia takes one look at the both of them before pulling a weird face.

“You’ve never changed a nappy before have you?”

Frank shakes his head and finally sets the squirming toddler down. The house is a mess and he hates standing in the middle of it whilst the kids who are meant to be his scream and cry. He manages to find a spare towel and quickly wraps it around himself.

“Here,” Jamia tells him, thrusting Michelle into his now empty arms before bending down to fix Elizabeth's nappy. He can't bring himself to really look at the small squirming child in his arms. He doesn't want to look down and see himself mirrored in her picture perfect features. He knows that he should be taking Gerard's advice and getting to know them but he feels so disconnected, so out of place in their lives, that he wonders if it’s worth the effort. He is afraid that he will love them and that it will change everything.

“Hey, she likes you.”

Jamia's voice breaks through his distant thoughts, and he finally notices that Michelle has stopped crying and is now chattering “Dada” and “read” to him, her hazel eyes hopeful and filled with an innocence that makes him cringe.

“Yeah, I guess?” Frank replies, before biting his lower lip. He really has no idea what to do, and he looks desperately at Jamia for directions or instructions.

“Dada! Read!” Michelle prompts again, struggling in his arms and slapping his bare chest. Read. Okay. He can do that. He carries her over to the couch where he spies a few picture books. Michelle demands to be read _Green Eggs and Ham_ and comes very close to smacking him in the balls with it. As he recites the rhymes and points out things in the pictures, he cannot help but start to accept some responsibility and feel some remorse for the life he is leaving behind.

He feels like absolute shit the next time he comes to, his body eagerly rejecting the minimal contents of his stomach onto the path at the back of the house which he shares with Jamia. His head and muscles ache, and he feels like he has whiplash. Too many time travels too close together tend to leave him weak and almost unable to move. It is something he has managed for avoid the past year and a half up until now. After a few minutes’ rest under the bright sun, he is able to move. His fingers are clumsy and awkward to move as he makes a grab for the box which always contains at the very least a pair of sweat pants and a tshirt. Today is no different, as he finds himself tugging on the familiar worn cotton of an abused _Kill 'em all_ tshirt and jeans which look like they have seen a year's worth of better days. He glances oddly at the fence, a little perplexed by the pink and white streamers and balloons taped to it. The sinking feeling in his gut does little to reassure him that the present that he is in is one of comfort. It is only when he rounds the corner into the yard that he realizes that the left over remains of a recent children's party now claim residency, and he is so fucked. For a moment he contemplates leaving, but something inside him won’t allow him to.

 _Oh well_ , he tries to rationalize. _At least he didn't show up in the middle of it butt naked and vomiting onto the cake or whatever_. But missing a birthday like this is poor parenting 101. He barely has time to reconcile the fact that he just mentally referred to himself as a dad before the twins come barreling out of the house with excited screams of “Daddy! You made it!” and hug him desperately.

“Why didn't you come earlier?” Elizabeth questions, looking up at him with an expression that is too innocent, too earnest to deny. He wonders briefly if they know he is a time traveler, forever cursed – or so it seems, to arrive late or in unexpected awkward situations.

“Sorry,” he finds himself apologizing, “I was... Busy.” _Changing your nappy and wondering what I had done to deserve having you both in my life_. He glances up towards the house and is surprised to see another man there, glaring at him as if he’s the intruder. The man has colourful tattoos snaking down one arm and black-dyed hair that has far too much product in it for a sticky Jersey afternoon. Frank feels himself tense defensively and pauses only to drop to his knees and press kisses to the twin's foreheads. He wishes them a Happy Birthday and tells them that they make very beautiful princesses. Inside he can hear Jamia call out “Andy? Is Frank here?” It all makes sense now. This must be the guy she had started dating the last time he had seen her. Whoever he was, he looks like an asshole. It doesn't take much before Frank is hoisting Michelle up, murmuring about how heavy she has become and thinking that no-one is good enough for his family. Elizabeth grabs his spare hand and drags him inside announcing loudly that he has to have some cake, because mommy made a special princess one. He is a little skeptical but cake sounds good, in fact, any food right now would be a good start.

“Dad's here! Dad's here!” Elizabeth and Michelle chorus as they head further into the house. It is strange to be there, where he clearly doesn't belong, despite it being the house he had originally bought for them. Jamia comes back out of the kitchen, cake knife in hand, her expression reading _the only reason I'm not stabbing you with this knife right now is because the children are watching._

Frank flashes her a large and over-enthusiastic grin to try and dispel the obvious tension. “Sorry I'm late,” he tells her, setting Michelle down. “Better late than never, right?”

Jamia glares at him for a second, a resounding _Fuck you_ written all over her face. He chooses to ignore it.

“So Daddy...” Michelle starts, shifting her weight from foot to foot. “Where are our presents?”

Frank freezes and feels suddenly very guilty. Fuck. He didn't think about that. Of course the girls would want presents. Maybe he should leave and get them something? A puppy?

“He didn't bring any.” Andrew states, heading to the kitchen and slipping an arm around Jamia almost possessively, as if Frank is an obvious threat. Jamia flips him a guarded look that he knows all too well and slips out of Andrew's embrace, beckoning Frank to follow her.

“I was hoping you'd show up,” Jamia says, handing him two gift wrapped boxes from the cupboard in the laundry. He is a little taken back by the gesture, having anticipated her to fully bitch him out, instead she presses a quick kiss to his rough cheek. “I know the girls really appreciate you being here, and be nice to Andy, he's a little protective.”

“Oh,” Frank replies. “Um, thanks. Shit, you're the best, you know that?”

Jamia grins at him before giving him a not so subtle shove towards the doorway. The twins predictably squeal in unison the minute Frank comes into the lounge room. He hands over the presents and watches with a weird sense of happiness as they tear through the brightly coloured paper. Behind him he can see Jamia still lingering in the doorway with a smile, watching them. She looks happy, and the total opposite of Andrew who is still staring daggers at him.

Once the allure of the new presents has worn off, he is dragged into the twin's bedroom where Michelle insists that she give him more tattoos like the ones “Older Daddy has.” He watches in fascination as she carefully draws what starts off looking like a pirate scar around his wrist in a purple sparkly pen. He can’t help but notice the way that she sticks her tongue out of the corner of her mouth in concentration as the pirate scar slowly morphs into Frankenstein's monster type stitches. It’s like looking into a mirror and his heart aches painfully at a memory of Gerard doing something very similar to him. He tries to bury the pain and makes a mental note to go down to Mark and get the drawing made permanent. Seeing the twins like this, so innocent and deserving of love, makes him feel uncomfortable, and after a few more minutes of Michelle drawing on him whilst Elizabeth listens to his heart through her new play stethoscope, he realizes that he wants to have them in his life. He is a little unsure what to do with this new information and wonders if Gerard will hate him for it.

Frank feels caged and frustrated that night as he tosses in the pullout sofa. It is too awkward staying in the same house as Andrew, watching him take control of his family and do all the tasks he used to do not all that long ago. He’s the one to help Jamia with dinner, to steal her kisses and make her laugh. It is almost more than he can stomach, but he gets some satisfaction from the twins demanding that he be the one to read to them that night. More than anything he misses Gerard's reassuring weight beside him. Gerard. Fuck. The thought hits him that at this moment in time his boyfriend is only four years old. Great, as if he didn't already feel like a creep. After another two cigarettes on the porch and three trips to the refrigerator to stare blankly into the brightly illuminated depths, he falls into an uneasy sleep.

Jamia kicks him out of the house around two pm the next day.

“Go take the girls into town and, I dunno, get them ice-cream. Sheesh, you look like shit and the girls are getting suspicious,” she tells him, throwing a pair of shoes in his direction. He rolls his eyes at her and only just manages to bite back a comment of “Oh yeah? What would you think made me like that?” There is no point in coming across like the jealous ex-boyfriend/husband or whatever he is.

Andrew drives them in, and Frank has to grit his teeth and try very hard to stay in the present. It is not an easy task as they round corners too tightly and go over the speed limit too many times for comfort. When they’re finally dropped off, he hurriedly lights a cigarette and sits down on the curb. The twins look at him with concern and he has to explain that transport and him don't mix at the best of times, least of all when Andrew drives. At least Jamia's new husband was silent during the trip into the city. He isn't sure if he would be able to handle having to make forced conversation with him. The radio station that was playing was bad enough, and he is convinced that he has nothing in common with this new man that Jamia has come to rely on and his children refer to as “Dad”. The cellphone Jamia has given him rings shrilly as they queue to get ice-creams, and he barely gets a word in before she is frantically asking whether he’s okay or whether she should send Andrew back.

“I'm fine, just, you know,” he replies, tugging the dollar bills from his pocket and handing them to Elizabeth.

“Oh good, I wasn't thinking, I mean, what if you left and the girls were alone?” Her voice sounds on the edge of hysteria.

“Calm down,” he tells her, trying to project as much confidence into it as he can. “I'm going to be here for a few days. Just tell your asshat husband not to drive like a dick next time.”

“What's an asshat, daddy?” Michelle pipes up, and he’s pretty sure Jamia just heard that through the cellphone's tiny speaker. Oh, hell. She tells him to stop swearing, and that she’ll pick them up in a few hours and take the girls to the arcade a block down. He thanks her and hangs up just in time to see Elizabeth reaching out to take an ice-cream with four scoops on it. After they have all consumed half their body weights in milk products and waffle cones, Frank drags them off along familiar streets to the Way family home. He mentally thanks Andrew for dropping them off so close. He knows he shouldn't do this, to visit and risk seeing Gerard with the twins but something drives him on.

The girls complain loudly after the first ten minutes, a mixture of “Where are we going?” “My feet hurt.” “This sucks.” “Why are you punishing us?” “My feet _really_ hurt.” “You owe us more ice-cream.”

“Why are we here?” Michelle demands when they finally stop outside the house.

Frank searches his brain for an acceptable answer before finally landing on “My friend Gerard lives here and one day he's going to grow up and be a famous artist.” It doesn't seem like nearly enough to sum up everything Gerard means to him but he can't bring himself to speak anymore than that. He's pretty sure the girls know why he isn't still with their mom, but he can't be one hundred percent. Knowing Jamia, she would have softened the truth and not told them about his relationship with another man instead of her. He feels oddly guilty at the thought.

“Why don't we go say hi?” Elizabeth asks brightly, already making a move to cross the road. He tugs her back and tells her in a slightly sorrowful tone that Gerard won't know who he is for at least another year. The girls nod and don't ask any more questions about the subject, which makes him curious as to how much Jamia has actually told them. Knowing her and the ages of the girls, it won’t be the truth. He glances back across the road and gets a brief glimpse of a small dark haired boy tug one of the curtains across. His heart soars and his stomach twists painfully. More than anything he wants to be there, be with him, but he can't. He knows that they don't meet until Gerard is almost six and the thought does little to reassure him about the future as he tugs the girls back towards the arcade.

That night he sits on the fold out couch bed, clutching a mug of hot coffee with Jamia seated beside him. It is pretty late, especially considering that the girls have school tomorrow.

“Have they asked why we're not together anymore?” Frank finds himself asking. It’s all really so new to him and for once he would appreciate some straight answers.

“Yeah, you were here for it, actually,” Jamia replies easily before her lips twitch into a smirk. “Looking forward to that? It went pretty well though, considering.”

He cannot help but pull a face into his mug as he gulps down another mouthful. He doesn't think he’ll ever look forward to a future knowing that it is a part of it. He wants to ask “Considering what?” but he keeps silent, in the hopes that she will fill the silence with what he wants and needs to hear.

“I figure that when they are old enough to work out that Gerard is important to you, one or both of us can tell them. They already know you go and visit a _friend_ , but it's too soon to say anything, it'll just end up confusing them.”

“Right, of course. Does this whole thing weird you out? That we have... kids, but you're married to someone else and I'm with Gerard?”

Jamia offers him a half shrug and subconsciously twists the elaborated jeweled wedding bands now adorning her hand as she explains that it is not unheard of these days. “I... I'm still kinda surprised that I never knew you were gay, but...”

“I'm not gay! I just...” he starts in reply and he receives a raised skeptical eyebrow in response. “I'm still attracted to women, even to you, old lady. I'm just, I'm in love and it's crazy and overwhelming but it's... it's amazing, even when things with him are at their absolute worst.” It feels so strange to finally admit that truth to her. It has been something that he’s hidden and been afraid to voice, especially to her, the woman who he believed for so many years was his wife. He looks at her as he voices this to her and is more than a little relieved to see her squint at him for a moment before smiling.

“He's your exception?” she asks.

“Everyone has one.” Frank replies, shoving his shoulder against her a little. “Mine just has a penis.”

Jamia laughs loudly, leaning against him for support. It takes her a few full minutes to be calm enough to reply that she is glad that he’s happy, that it is all she ever wanted for him. He stutters around a “Thank you” before asking the questions which have been nagging at him since he arrived.

He asks her if she is really happy with Andrew, if he is okay knowing the girls aren't his. “You're the most incredible mom,” he adds. “You know this is the first time I've met the guy right?”

“Yeah, I got that. He's met you three or four times before, briefly, and he knows I want you around when you can be. I want the girls to have both their fathers in their life. Honestly, I like you better now that I have Andy. 'M not so confused anymore. Andy is a great dad and he makes me happy. It's a pretty awesome situation, considering everything.”

Frank nods, trying to process all of this, and ends up confessing that he didn't take having the twins in his life so well at first. He watches as Jamia cocks her head a little to look up at him. “I was stupid and kept running away,” he tells her. “I couldn't face them or you, fuck, especially not Gerard. Turns out he already knew, the fucker, he just never told me. Said he was scared that I'd leave him. This is all so fucking hard to get used to, that's all.”

“You blame him for not telling you? Does he not want you to see them?” her tone is measured but he can tell that she is more than a little pissed off and confused by the situation. He knows it isn't the first, nor the last.

“A little bit?” he admits a little sheepishly. “It was such a massive thing to keep from me. He said I should see them, that he was just afraid that I'd choose to be with you because of them.”

Jamia pulls back from off his shoulder and flicks him a look that he knows too well before saying, “Does he not know how dysfunctional we were? You're not coming back to me.” She pauses and a look of horror flicks across her tired features. “Oh God, you're not like that with him, are you? Frankie? Tell me you two work better than we ever did?”

He pulls back further from her, as if her words are offensive and stinging. “I'm not going to leave him, if that's what you're asking. I've seen him when he’s in his mid forties and still with me. I don't think he understands that we-” he pauses to gesture between them. “Weren't all that good for each other.”

She laughs a little before stealing the mug out of his hand to take a sip. It feels so good to talk with her like this, like all the shit from the past few years has dissolved and they are back to being best friends again. A part of him wants to know if she feels the same way, but the way that she brightly laughs and teases him is proof enough.

“Has he seen you older? Man, to know you get to be with someone for at least the next fifteen years... must be somewhat relaxing?”

“Relaxing is hardly the word I'd use, more reassuring? But yeah, he has. I've spent a lot of time thinking I could screw up the future, but maybe he's been right all along, that I can't fuck it up, that it's all _fate_ or whatever.” He rolls his eyes dramatically to prove his point. He can remember talking about this with a Gerard who was thirty six. How Gerard had sat them down and tried his best to explain the _predestination theory_ , which sounded like a whole lot of bullshit in his mind at a much younger age. But the more he time travels and saw how things worked out, he can't help but think that maybe, just maybe, Gerard was right. It wouldn't be the first time, and Frank feels stupid for not listening to him more often.

“You don't believe in fate, though, you know, _do what the fuck I want_ and all that.” Jamia reaches out and pats his face in a way that is both comforting and condescending. “He sounds great. Don't let him go.”

“Not planning to,” he tells her as she stands and stretches sleepily. “I don't believe in fate, it's like believing in luck, it's pointless. How could my actions _not_ affect the present? But yeah, he is great. You'd really like him, you know. He's awkward as hell but I'm sure you'd find that endearing... I miss him.”

Jamia flicks him a weirdly soft look before bending down and tugging him into a hug. “I know,” she whispers. “I know.”

 

The next few days at home with the girls and Jamia are unbearably awkward. He hates having to watch Andrew be the perfect husband and father. It is frustrating as hell and he spends too much time sitting on the back porch smoking too many cigarettes. He misses Gerard more than he knows what to do with, and can't help feeling guilty every time he hugs the twins. Wednesday morning he wanders down the road, hands shoved deep into his hoodie's pockets. The tattoo shop at the very least has air conditioning and he can't help but breathe a sigh of relief as he sinks into the white leather chair. Mark sits down on his usual stool, the marks of the past years are more obvious on his tanned skin and creased eyes, a knowing smile on his face.

“What'll it be today, Frankie? It's been a while.”

Frank nods and holds out his right wrist where Michelle's sparkly marker has all but faded to nothing and describes exactly what he wants. Mark nods and sets to work. The sound and smell in the shop is familiar and comforting and he cannot help but think about the last time he was here and all the shit that had gone down because of it. He is adamant that this time will be different.

The girls are suitably impressed when he gets home and takes off the plastic wrap to show them. Michelle whips out her markers again and tells him to roll up his sleeves because she has got more for him. Frank rolls his eyes a little to distance himself from the fact that he feels like he has been chewed up and spat out, but obliges anyway.

“You're doing it wrong” Elizabeth states, watching her sister and reaches out for the blue sparkly pen to correct her.

“No!” Michelle replies and bats her hand away. “It has red here!”

“No!”

“Yes!”

“Nuh-uh!”

“Ya-huh!”

“Stop it. Go wash up, it's nearly lunch time.” Jamia tells them, intervening before Frank even has a chance to do so.

Elizabeth pouts and throws the marker down as Michelle attempts to plead with her mother.  
“But I've almost finished!” she tries, still colouring in and holding her mouth in a way that makes her look almost like Gerard.

Frank attempts to swallow against the tightness of his throat. He glances down at the rough scribble now on his inner arm. It appears to be some sort of bird. “You can finish later, sweets,” he tells Michelle and stands up from the couch. His daughter nods and grins before darting off to wash her hands. He turns around to see Jamia shake a little, a smile twitching at her mouth.

“So what have you done to yourself this time?” she asks, grabbing his wrist and proceeds to inspect it. “Stitches? Really?”

“I am a monster,” he tells her with a grin before digging his fingers into all the areas where he knows she’s ticklish. “Hate me! Destroy me! Destroy me!”

“Frank! Stop it! Arggghhh!” she squeals, and tries half-heartedly to fight him off. He grins at her and presses harder and deeper, relishing the giggles and panted laughs which escape from her. Her face flushes red and he is too caught up with tackling her to the floor that he doesn't notice Andrew standing behind them until he is tugged back violently. He can't help but swear loudly as he reconnects with the edge of the couch, falling back into it painfully.

“Hey!” Jamia yells, slowly regaining her breath, “Calm the fuck down, the both of you!”  
Frank glares at Andrew before slowly flipping Jamia an almost sheepish smile. He knows that he shouldn't have tackled her like that, shouldn't have pushed for something he shouldn't have.

“What's going on?” Elizabeth asks as she reemerges, her sisters trailing behind them. He feels a stab of guilt at how cautious they look, but cannot find the right apologetic words to make things better.

It is too hot the next time he awakens after being snatched away from his patchwork family. The birds are loud here, and the small pebbles in the dirt embed themselves into his knees. It takes him a minute to realize where he is. He knows that somewhere, two houses down, his seventeen year old self is hiding, and three houses up and across the road is his twenty-three year old self. He knows that in a few minutes to a few hours he will witness his dad leave, shoving two suitcases into his car and driving off. He feels so powerless, forced to endure this again and again, like Prometheus, Except that the vulture is replaced with his father, ripping his heart and future away from him. With a shuddering breath, he realizes that he has become the one thing he vowed never to be. He has unwittingly become the absent father, the one who puts his own needs above those of his family. Guilt is not a strong enough word for what he feels as he sinks down into the dirt and vows in that moment to change, to be better, to be there for his girls. He accepts that he cannot change them or the situation and the relief he feels is almost immediate.

He does not stay to watch his dad leave. To do so would force him to admit to himself that he was the same. So he doesn't.

The next time he opens his eyes, he’s inside the house he shares with Gerard. The carpet is rough and familiar and he allows himself to luxuriate in the moment. He breathes deeply and tries to stop the coughs which tear out of his throat. The house is oddly silent, and he slowly opens his eyes to find out why. The answer he receives is not the one he was expecting at all. He feels like he has had a sledge hammer to the stomach. He coughs painfully again, closing his eyes in the hopes that when he opens them things will be different.

They aren't.

Around him are a few stray boxes and no furniture. The house seems impossibly large without their belongings to occupy it. His throat feels too tight and he hopes like hell that he is misinterpreting what is going on.

“Gerard?” he calls out, panicked. There is no reply, only silence and the sound of his labored breathing as he forces himself to his feet and into the hall. What was once their bedroom is empty, depressions in the carpet and a few coffee stains the only markers that they were ever there. The studio is the same. He stands in the middle of the room, turning around slowly. Just above the light switch, he can just make out a pencil drawing that’s been almost erased. He leans closer and has to support himself on the wall next to it.

 _Love you more than zombies love brains_ it reads, with a little wonky heart drawn around it. He knows that it is his own handwriting, and wonders when he wrote it. He squeezes his eyes shut. It doesn't matter, as someone has obviously tried to erase it. The worst-case scenario he has pictured is seeming more and more likely.

“Gerard!!” he cries out again, praying for an answer he doesn't receive. Before he even knows what he’s doing, he runs through the house, checking every room before pressing his face to the window. The street outside is bathed in afternoon light and his breath catches horribly as he sees Gerard shove a large bag into the boot of a car. A girl with black hair tied in pigtails helps him with the last of the boxes piled beside the car. He wants to stop them, but he can't make himself breath[e,] let alone move to stop them. The girl has bright tattoos snaking down her arms and he can't help but feel sick as they shut the truck, grinning at each other. It is only when the girl squeezes Gerard's hand and presses a quick kiss to his lips does he let out a painful sob. He cannot tear his eyes away from the scene as they climb into the car together. He does not miss the way that Gerard looks back towards the house, almost hesitating. He doesn’t see Frank, or if he did, he doesn't stop.

Frank tears himself away from the window as the car pulls away. He feels sick and slow as if he is unable to process and react to what has just happened. He sinks to the floor and buries his head in his hands.

Gerard has left him. The small box which sits at his feet is testament to this fact, its label bitingly reading _Frank's crap_. No wonder it was left behind. He doubts that it is the only one.

He stays there, numb, until the sun has set and the house is dark. He reluctantly gets to his feet, flicking on the light as he does so. His fingers itch for a cigarette or a drink or something. In the lounge, he spots another one of boxes of his things. He tears into it, not caring, and comes face to face with some clothes, old Batman comics and a photograph of him and Gerard together. He grips the frame with shaking hands. He is much younger, and is pressing an obnoxious kiss to Gerard's cheek. Gerard's bright, happy expression is more than he can stomach right now and, without thinking, the frame slips from his hands back into the box. He can’t bring himself to search through the rest of the contents. It is too painful, too fresh, and he can barely tug on the clothes let alone do anything else.

He drifts aimlessly for a while, half heartedly searching for a note which will explain anything. The only thing he finds is an envelope marked with a new address on the kitchen counter. There is no letter, no “I'm sorry”, “Yours always” or even a simple “Goodbye.” It shouldn't matter, but it really does. The address is in New York, and he knows that it’s not their apartment. His fingers brush over the ink as if he could somehow magically erase it and bring Gerard back home. Maybe he had been totally out of line by telling Jamia that he thought things could be predestined. He's pretty sure this wasn't meant to happen.

He hesitates to go outside to get cigarettes and a large amount of alcohol, as if there’s a chance that Gerard will come back. It seems so ironic that the minute he decides to accept the whole _dad_ thing like Gerard said he would and should, he leaves him. If Frank didn't know better, he'd think that this is all one huge cruel joke. He can't help but wonder who the girl is and what part she has in all this. He feels anger start to burn inside of him. It's not fair and it sure as shit isn't right. As he kicks the open box of his belongings across the room, he gets some satisfaction in hearing the photo frame smash and the crunch of broken glass. It doesn't take long before the other boxes end up the same way, tossed against the walls with no regard for their contents.

 _We're Frank and Gerard, how can we not make it?_ He remembers that afternoon bitterly and spits onto one of the boxes which has some old paint tubes of Gerard's in it, as if he can remove the taste from his mouth. He surveys the damage around him and slams the door on his way out.

He does not feel any remorse when he pick pockets someone's wallet. It has a picture of their wife, son and dog in a weirdly formal pose. He discards it easily, as if the reminder of family is too much. Fucking Gerard. He knows he should've seen this coming. No-one wants to be with someone who is what he is. No-one wants to be the one always left behind. As he tears desperately into a new box of cigarettes he can't help but wonder if this will be good for Gerard. He really hopes so. God knows he's taken up enough of his life. He jumps between being so angry with him that he is on the brink of smashing the vodka bottle in his hand, and absolute despair. The alcohol does nothing to ease the feeling of being punched in the guts. He cannot believe he was this stupid, to expect Gerard to stay, to want to be a part of his fucked up idea of family. Of course it would've been too much. A part of him is still hurting that Gerard didn't even _bother_ to leave a note. Just an address. Frank reaches into his pocket for another cigarettes only to find that his fingers wrap themselves around the envelope instead. For a minute he contemplates tearing it up. It isn't their address, it isn't their phone number. It can really only mean one thing but it doesn't stop him from stumbling to a call box and slurring a message on an answering machine that belongs to a woman.

“Gee, it's me... please, come home? I'm sorry, I'll... I'll do better, just... come home... I need you...”  



	13. Division XIII

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Hi, this is Gerard Way. I'm probably busy as fuck right now, so leave a message and I'll try to remember to call you back._

Frank feels like an idiot for getting as wasted as he has. It's not like it's actually helping with anything. Gerard has still left him and moved in with someone else. A woman too. He should be surprised but he's not, not after everything he has put the man through. In fact, he's pretty sure he is still drunk as he vomits onto the welcome mat at the home he brought for him and Jamia. His head and stomach sure as shit don't feel good and if he knew any better he'd say... He throws up again and the world twists in a stupid way. He stumbles a little, surprised when the front door opens to reveal a woman wrapped in a blanket. He coughs harder and wipes his mouth. He's made a mess on the front door step and he can't quite workout why he is there.

“J?” he asks confused.

The woman sneezes a few times before shaking her head. “No, Daddy, I'm Michelle. You... Are you drunk?” she questions as he stumbles into the house.

Michelle. His daughter. Oh shit. He quickly attempts to cover himself a little with his bare hands whilst slurring out, “I'm okay, no, maybe a little.”

She waves him in, her nose is red and she is sniffing loudly. She mumbles something about him sitting down and her getting a glass of water for him before shuffling into the kitchen. He cannot help but stagger over to the couch and collapse readily into its soft embrace. Everything is spilling at the edges and his stomach and head feel like they are being stabbed with hot knives. He squeezes his eyes shut and tries to concentrate on breathing. _Daddy_ , fuck it is weird to be called that and he almost wishes he had the strength to tell her to call him Frank instead. He stops trying to think rational thoughts and is surprised when a hand is suddenly placed on his shoulder, shaking him gently. He groans and squints open his eyes, taking a glass of water from his daughter. What he is able to get down his throat helps a little and after a few minutes he is able to sit up without feeling like he is on the verge of collapse. He drags the throw blanket across his lap and blink at Michelle.

“Why are you home?” he asks, his speech still unclear, even to his own ears.

Michelle looks at him strangely, sniffing a little. It is only then does he notice how blocked up and miserable she sounds as she asks if the blanket and the rudolf nose aren't a dead give away. “Why are you wasted in the middle of the day?” she questions, plonking down next to him, “I thought you and Gerard didn't drink. Mom said something about him being an alcoholic?”

Frank groans, he must've told Jamia about it in his future, her past. He feels like he has betrayed Gerard by letting that slip. He doesn't like the idea of his daughters knowing that about the man he loves... the man who has left him.

“You must've gotten my shit-all of an immune system,” he dodges, “but no, that's just Gerard who doesn't.” He adds on a “fucking asshole” for good measure. He feels strangely bitter still about the whole thing, goodness knows the alcohol swimming in his veins isn't helping. He keeps his eyes closed and can't see the concerned expression on Michelle's face.

“Dad, what happened? You love Gerard. What did he do?”

“Don't wanna talk about it,” he tells her with a shake of his head. He can't bring himself to admit it out loud to his teenage offspring. A small part of him however is glad that she didn't say “What did _you_ do?” instead. For once this is not his fuck up.

Michelle leans her head onto his shoulder, snuffing a little as she softly says that things will work out before asking what happened.

Frank tries. He really does and he manages it keep it together for a whole fifteen seconds before bursting into painful raw sobs. “He left. He left and just wrote a return address and it's... it's not the one where we live later on.”

He feels Michelle wrap her small arms around him, trying to keep him together as it feels like he is splintering into a million pieces. She tries to tell him that it is just a misunderstanding, that he will see him again and everything will be okay. He can't find his voice to tell her that she is wrong.  
“You'll see him soon. You'll travel and turn up at his doorstep and he'll open the door and explain everything.”

“I miss him,” is all he can reply, his voice as broken as he feels. He feels her nod and hold him closer. He allows himself to mourn into her arms for a few minutes before he feels that familiar burn of bile up his throat. He stutters a quick apology before stumbling to the kitchen sink and retching painfully into it. Slowly he can feel the booze wearing off, only to be replaced with a sledge hammer feeling in his skull and instant regret. He feels like shit. He knows that he shouldn't be confessing all this to her. Especially not when she is sick and so young. It hurts to know that Gerard is two years younger than the girl that stands before him. He ends up voicing all of this to Michelle who rolls her eyes at him.

“I'm seventeen, and I know about breakups and I know about Gerard. Besides Mom and Liz aren't here so who else were you thinking of talking to? Now go sit down and I'll get out the ice cream.”

He doesn't hesitate in snapping back that he doesn't want ice cream. That there has to be whiskey in the house. There is always whiskey here.

She glares at him, tugging the pale blue blanket tighter around her. “Stop it. Okay? Stop it.” She sounds too much like Jamia and he is yelling back at her before he knows what he is doing.

“You stop it! You think ice cream is going to fucking fix this?”

“You think getting off your face and yelling at me is going to?” She counters.

“You weren't meant to happen!” Frank yells, the bitter words leaving his lips too quickly. It takes him a full second before he realizes that he has made a huge mistake and by that time Michelle has blinked at him, horrified and quickly left the room.

“You know where the door is,” she calls back, emotion choking her voice. Frank does the only thing he can think of and chases after her calling out that he is sorry, that he didn't mean it. “You did,” Michelle tells him pointedly when he catches up to her, pushing her bedroom door open a fraction. “You wish Liz and I never happened and that you could go off and live with Gerard for ever and ever and never have to think about anyone else.”

He tries to tell her that she is wrong, but the horrible truth is that she isn't at all. More than anything he wants a normal life with Gerard, to not be in this situation of having kids he feels a guilty sense of responsibility for and... he remembers that Gerard has left him and immediately feels sick, his skin crawling as he threatens to break down.

“I want you both in my life,” he tries but Michelle just shakes her head and tells him that he doesn't.

She makes a move to close her door before ordering him out, “Go find Gerard, Frank. Don't pretend like you want to be here just for my sake.”

The way his name sounds on her lips makes him cringe, even after his thoughts about asking her to call him by his first name, but she continues and he is forced to listen.

“I can look after myself fine. If you don't want me – us – then get out.”

He rubs his face and wishes he was more sober for this argument. “I've only know you both existed for about a month,” he tries to explain, “But I want you guys, as weird and as fucked up as it is... just please, don't leave me too.”

“Fucked up? God, you are such an asshole!”

He cringes yet again. It's true of course, he knows that he is an asshole and quickly apologizes, saying that it came out wrong.

“It really did. Look, if you wanna stay, then have a nap, sort your shit out and sober up. The spare room is still set up from when you were here the other day. Mom'll be home when you wake up.”

He follows her instructions and falls face down onto the made bed in the spare room. If he wasn't feeling like absolute shit before, he sure as hell is now.

His dreams are a torrid, crazy mess of lights and colour. It makes him feel sick and unsteady. At one point he thinks he hears Jamia's voice call out “'Chel? you okay sweetie? What did you go out for? Why is there vomit?” and Michelle's reply of “Spare room, mom.” It isn't until there is a hand on his shoulder, shaking him slightly and calling his name that he realizes that maybe he wasn't dreaming after all.

“Ughhh,” he voices helpfully, “'M sorry, 'm drunk.”

“What did you say to Michelle?” Jamia asks cautiously. He can tell that she's not happy and knows that he wouldn't be if he was in her shoes.

He takes a few seconds before replying with a slur. “That she wasn't meant to happen, so sorry.” He cracks open one eye to see Jamia glaring at him with so much disgust that it could curdle milk.

“Get. Out,” she harshly annunciates.

He sits up woozily, the force of doing so almost too much for him to handle. He wants to collapse back into his uneasy sleep. He wants all of this hurt to stop, to go back to feeling happy, safe and loved. He staggers up and to the front door, curious as to how many lives he can be booted out of in twenty four hours.

“Mom, I already told him he's an asshole, just let him stay,” Michelle's voice echoes out in the house. He watches the indecision pass quickly over Jamia's face. He knows that he is not welcome here, not anymore, not after what he had said to Michelle.

“I'll go,” he states plainly, making a move for the front door. “I'm sorry.”

“No, she wants you to stay, heaven knows why,” Jamia tells him, catching his arm in passing. “You're not going, you are sitting on the couch and telling me what the fuck is wrong with you.”

He dumbly nods, head lowered. He knows he doesn't deserve to stay but can't help but feel somewhat glad that he is allowed. His head is still swimming and more than anything he wants to reach out and seek some sort of comfort in her arms like he used to.

“I don't deserve them,” he states, watching as Jamia sits next to him, still guarded. “I sure as shit didn't deserve you or Gerard.”

“You don't want me. Wouldn't even if you could have me, but you're allowed to be happy. What's stopped that?”

“I was wrong,” Frank admits with a shake of his head. “The future can change and...” he trails off. He doesn't quite want to admit it out loud but she prompts him to keep going by grabbing his hand and hold it tightly. “I'm scared I've lost everything... I know I have,” he admits and looks down at the way her new wedding ring fits her fourth finger securely.

Jamia sighs, “You gonna tell me or do I have to start guessing?”

“Gerard left.” He shrugs, pretending like the truth isn't destroying him piece by piece, that it feels like he has been stabbed and bleeding out all over the dark grey carpet, that just saying the words isn't driving the knife in again and again. “He'd obviously had enough of all my shit.”

“I... Are you sure? Oh, Frankie...”

“Yeah. Can I have that whiskey now? I'm not ready to be sober.”

He watches as Jamia shakes her head, stating that drinking won't make it hurt less. She then shuffles closer and before he realizes what she is doing, she is wrapping her small arms around him, tugging him into an embrace. She whispers in his ear that she is sorry.

“You'll see him again though, get to talk it out, figure out what happened,” she promises as the lump in his throat chokes him.

“I don't want to see him,” he lies. He would give anything to see Gerard, to hold him again and not be left behind.

“Frankie...” He figures she probably knows this.

“No. Why can't I just be normal for once? He left my shit behind and a forwarding address that isn't ours. He's gone and with someone else. Saw her kiss him.” He flinches, remembering her tattoos and that too short skirt.

Jamia pulls back a little, her eyebrows creased in confusion and concern. “What? ...Her? I thought...? Kiss how? Sorry, I just... You've always said that he's never been interested in women.”

“Well, obviously he likes 'em with black hair, tattoos and short skirts,” he replies, choked up. He doesn't want to feel the hard edge of sobriety sinking in. He wants to run away and forget. His voice must betray him as she holds him tighter once more, shushing reassuring sounds into his ear.

“You need to talk to him, sweetie. Even if it's just for closure.”

“What am I meant to say?” he asks, muffled into her shoulder that smells of warmth and better times. “Seriously, _Thanks for a swell time? For the memories? For staying as long as you did?_ What?”

He feels Jamia bite her lip and admit that she doesn't know, that perhaps he won't need to say much if Gerard likes to talk as much Frank says he does. “Come stay here whenever you want. If you find yourself somewhere you don't want to be, come here. You are always welcome and well, it is your house,” she tells him with a small smile that puts light into her face, pulling back to hold his hand once more. Not for the first time he is struck with how much of a perfect mother she is.

“I know it's probably one massive coincidence but I saw dad leave again and I promised myself I'd do better. Be better, and then I come to... and see him loading stuff into a car and driving off,” he admits.

“Hey, you're not like your father,” Jamia reassures him, pressing a quick kiss to his forehead before standing and holding out her hand. “Come on. I'm sorry I woke you up.”

He looks up at her and cannot believe the mercy that she is extending to him despite his awareness of her never ending kindness. He hates that he did this to them. “I ran away,” he tells her, “For three whole weeks. I didn't want to be a dad. I didn't want that responsibility. I am _exactly_ like him.”

“Frankie, he left when you were a kid and he never came back. You're here right now. You come here a lot actually. You're a great father because you do everything you can.”

He nods slowly, not really believing her. How could he be a great father when he randomly shows up? Interrupting their lives and inconveniencing them.

“Come on,” Jamia continues, helping him to stand, “You're gonna have one hell of a hangover. Try to sleep as much of it off as possible. You can apologize to your daughter again in the morning.”

He thanks her before wobbling back to the spare room and letting oblivion claim him.

Somehow over the course of the next few days he manages to convince himself that maybe he was mistaken. Maybe Gerard didn't leave him, maybe it was some big misunderstanding. It turns out that the girls must have gotten Jamia's sense of caring and skill at convincing because, come Thursday, Frank decides that he was wrong. After all, why would Gerard leave him now? It didn't make much sense, especially considering that he had previously known about the twins. He tries to conveniently forget the girl, dismissing her as maybe a very affectionate friend.

Frank awakens in a strange part of an unfamiliar city and promptly heaves a stomach full of coffee and vegetarian sausages into a rose bush, decorating it in chunks. His skin prickles painfully and his joints protest loudly as he crouches down to avoid being seen. He had previously been standing in the kitchen with Andrew, awkwardly discussing the military’s defense budget. Andrew's brother, it turned out, was currently stationed on an aircraft carrier somewhere out in the mid Atlantic. Poor soul. He remembers dropping his mug and hearing the cracking of the china as he dissolved, the look of horror on Andrews face. Thinking on it now, he thinks that Jamia might not have actually told her husband what he is. The long sleeved shirts she insisted that he wore was a bit of a dead give away come to think of it.

“Dad?”

Frank freezes and tries to blend in with the shrubbery surrounding him. Maybe the voice is meant for someone else.

“Dad! Frank!” Okay, it's probably him. It's a female voice and he keeps backing up into the greenery. “Oi! Asshole!” Suddenly a face is looming into his vision and he panics, lashing out at her in a last ditch effort to escape but she skillfully trips him up, sending him sprawling headfirst onto the damp early morning grass.

“You don't know who I am, do you?” she asks, humor colouring her voice as she pulls a pair of lilac scrub pants from her bag, throwing them to him. He gratefully seizes them, tugging them on quickly before standing to meet her eyes. She looks tired, her long dark brown hair tied up in a ponytail. She is still wearing her scrub top with a black cardigan over the top. Her eyes are what strike him and he gets the weirdest feeling of recognition looking into them. He slowly shakes his head, guilty for not knowing. She sighs and motions for him to follow, handing over a tshirt. He hesitates for a moment before falling two steps behind her. “You know, I don't recall seeing you this young since you kicked Michelle's boyfriend out when we were teenagers,” she remarks, flicking a glance over her shoulder. It suddenly makes sense.

“Elizabeth?” he asks, jogging the few steps to her side. It's strangely obvious when he looks at her now, especially the way she rolls her eyes. She must be into her mid thirty's now and is beginning to show it. She is also taller then him by a good few inches. It is slightly unnerving. He supposes that sometime in the future he will do what she says and will kick out his other daughter's boyfriend. Boyfriends, oh hell. He feels a weird rush of protectiveness and hastily looks at Elizabeth's left hand. No ring. He doesn't know whether he is glad or saddened by this fact.

“No shit, come on, you're coming home and taking a shower,” She tells him before grabbing his hand and squeezing. A shower sounds like the greatest thing he's ever heard of and thankfully it turns out Elizabeth's apartment is not far.

He learns as he is towel drying his hair, which is approaching shoulder length, that Elizabeth is living with either a guy or a very hairy female. The can of shaving gel and razor are a bit of a dead give away but he finds himself using them regardless. The sweatpants and shirt she has given him to get changed into fit reasonably well, although a little big and he is curious if they are actually his that she keeps here or just a random set. He comes out to the smell of coffee, reheated chinese and cigarette smoke. It makes his gut twist uncomfortably, having previously always associated that smell with Gerard. He tries not to let his longing to be with him show on his face as he grabs a smoke from the unfamiliar packaging and lights it.

“You shouldn't be smoking,” he tells Elizabeth as she shoves a plate towards him. “'S bad for you.” He glances back down at the cigarette packet. It has a picture of a blackened diseased lung. Cool.

“Like you can talk,” she replies, flicking the ash into an empty tray and raising a forkful of chow mein to her mouth.

He shrugs and finishes the cigarette before digging in. “So, you're seeing someone?” he asks through a mouthful of food. Elizabeth nods and tells him to be quiet as Jesse is sleeping. Huh, maybe she is dating a really hairy woman after all. His expression must have betrayed this as Elizabeth very quickly says “Jesse is a man, dad.”

“Oh, of course,” Frank puts his fork down and quietly asks if she has heard from Gerard at all. He knows that is a gamble and is half dreading the answer which could be anything from “Duh!” to “Gerard? Why would I hear from him? You haven't been with him for years.” Elizabeth nods quickly and tell him that he called yesterday.

“He's having an exhibition in two weeks and invited us down for it, but I'm going to be too busy in the clinic,” she explains with a sigh. Frank feels like he can't breath. This is more than he could have ever hoped for. Gerard is painting and inviting _Elizabeth_ to the opening. He cannot help the grin which splits his face and he wishes almost that he could cry. It is almost too much, but at the same time too little.

“Do you have his number? Can I call him?” he asks quickly, mouth dry. Elizabeth puts her fork down, digging small device from her pocket and hands it to him. Frank looks at unsure as to how he meant to operate it and after handling it for a few seconds places it on the table, giving it a push back to her.

“I don't know how to use it,” he explains as Elizabeth laughs at the scowl on his face.

“Okay, old man,” she replies and picks it up, double pressing the main button before swiping her finger across its surface. Frank has seen technology he doesn't understand a lot in his time, but this, where buttons are not needed at all, is entirely new. It makes a ringing type sound as a voice prompts _Calling Gerard Way_ in between the tones. “You don't need to hold it your ear or mouth,” Elizabeth explains, setting it down. The ringing draws out and he becomes increasingly nervous, drumming his clammy fingers on his leg. “With the time difference he might either still be sleeping or holed up in the studio, I can never remember,” she explains around another mouthful of food when Gerard's voice suddenly floods the room. His heart leaps into his throat as his hand's grip the bench for support.

_Hi, this is Gerard Way. I'm probably busy as fuck right now, so leave a message and I'll try to remember to call you back_.

“Hey... Gee...” Frank kind of stutters into the weird echoing quiet of Elizabeth's kitchen, “It's Frank, obviously, I'm at Elizabeth's and well, just wanted to say hi. I miss you, motherfucker. If I don't make it for the exhibition I hope it goes well and all that shit. I'm not sure how long I'm staying here for but if you could call back I'd love to hear your voice,” he mentally smacks himself for sounding so fucking lame and desperate. “But whatever... I love you.” he says the last bit quietly and watches as Elizabeth ends the call and gives him a thumbs up.

“Thanks,” he tells her, feeling overwhelmed and wanting to say so much more. She nods as if she understands and prompts him to keep eating. He finds himself asking questions and is stupidly delighted when she replies. Apparently, unlike Gerard and to some extents, Jamia, Elizabeth doesn't mind telling him about the future and what is happening. He listens reverently as she explains that she works in a rehab clinic as a nurse. It explains why she looks so tired and the scrubs she had stuffed into her bag. A part of him wonders if this is maybe the reason why Gerard keeps in touch, or whether it is just out of politeness, after all, she is his daughter despite the overwhelming age differences at times.

“So, Michelle is engaged,” Elizabeth states, finally sinking onto her couch and kicking her shoes off. “His name is Scott Summers, like X-Men or whatever it is that Gerard keeps laughing about. I swear, the last time we all got together over the holidays he kept telling Michelle to make sure he kept his sunglasses on. Weirdo. Anyway, the wedding is set for April next year,” she pauses, noticing the expression on his face. “Don't worry. Older you has said that you make it.”

Frank files the information away in the _important stuff to remember not to say_ part of his brain. It is incredible to think that the baby he held in his arms a month ago has grown into the woman the sits opposite him now. More than anything he wants to ask about Gerard, to find some sense that everything between them is okay. Elizabeth squints at him when he asks and very cautiously says that things were “difficult” almost a year ago but things are better now. She doesn't give into his pleading for details and distracts him with a bowl of ice cream. The future worries him and he hopes he can hang onto to this moment where everything is fine. He leaves halfway through telling her this and wishes he could have at least hugged her.

*

The next time he opens his eyes he is in the New York apartment. His heart is beating painfully and he has just enough energy to punch the floor in frustration before he is gone again.

*

Everything hurts. His head, his chest, even his skin seem to be on fire and resisting the traveling. He coughs hard and quickly opens his eyes, surveying his surroundings. Surprisingly he has managed to end up next door to the house in Jersey he shares with Gerard. He eagerly scrabbles to his feet, hell bent on reuniting with him. It's pretty dark out and the house is locked up tight by the time he gets there, clinging to he shadows and trying to stay out of the flickering neon streetlights. After searching almost fruitlessly and almost on the verge of going around to the front door to knock, he finds an unlatched window and hoists himself up and through it. The first thing he is aware of is that the house is cold, like the heating is broken again. The second is that Gerard is singing. Loudly. He almost runs to where the sound is coming from, eager to see him. The sight is one he wasn't quite expecting. Gerard is standing in the bathroom, singing an unfamiliar song as he applies what smells like hair dye with a toothbrush. He watches somewhat in awe, not wanting to break the scene in front of him. Gerard keeps his gaze trained on his mirror image and doesn't notice him clinging to the shadows. “You cut all your hair off!” he finally says in surprise, leaning on the doorframe. It barely registers that he is nude and Gerard is only in a pair of faded red boxers. It's the shortest he's seen his hair in a very long time and makes the man in front him seem much older than his twenty-something years. Gerard whips around in surprise, managing to smear black dye across his flushed cheeks. “Frankie! Hi!” he cries out, manically waving the toothbrush. Frank tries not to be disappointed that he is here and not in New York with an older Gerard, the one that he needs right now. The hair at the back of his head is white blond with at least half an inch of his natural brown peeking through. He wistfully remembers Florence, Gerard's hair a faded flame red and hates that it feels like an age ago.

“Hey,” he replies a beat later. “Want me to do the back for you?” He's curious as to why it was blonde in the first place but figures it is something he'll find out in the future sometime. Knowing Gerard it's probably something to do with a concept for school. Gerard enthusiastically nods and hands him the toothbrush and bowl. The dye immediately stains his hands, sending black rivers down the life and heart lines of his palms.

It is a strangely satisfying job and when he is finished he roots around under the sink for a pair of clippers he remembers owning. He begs Gerard to cut his hair for him while the dye processes and feels somewhat elated when he receives a grin and a “hell yes!” as a response. Over the past few months it has gotten long, almost to his shoulders and readily becomes knotted, curling behind his ears. Gerard twirls the clippers a little after plugging them in as if he is a drummer in a march band. “What do you want?” he asks, a giddy excitement already clouding his voice.

“All off,” Frank tells him after dragging a random stool into the bathroom and is surprised when Gerard shakes his head playfully.

“Oh no, you're getting a mohawk. It'll be sexy,” he states and begins shaving. Frank wonders why he asked in the first place. The longer strands get caught almost painfully as they work over his scalp and he belated thinks that maybe it would've been better to cut it shorter before attempting this. He winces a few times and pulls a face as Gerard abortively apologizes over and over before asking if he can dye the sides or bleach them. He laughs and is surprised how good it feels to finally do so. “Have you seen me with this already?”

“Maybe,” Gerard replies coyly, dropping an extra big chuck of hair into the sink, “but I'm still letting you choose.”

He goes to bitterly say _Really? Cause I sure as shit didn't get a choice in you_ leaving _me_ but reigns it in at the last moment, telling him instead that he should probably do it if he has seen him with it before. Gerard's reflection scowls at him. It is then that he realizes that he has a chance to change things, that maybe if he can convince the man standing behind him that he is worth his time, then maybe things could be different. He bides his time until Gerard steps back with a small flourish of arms and declares him to be perfect. Frank looks in the mirror, studying himself and rubbing his left hand over the very short sides. It looks pretty good so he reluctantly admits this to a beaming Gerard.

True to his word, Gerard bleaches the sides, making appear what little hair there is remains appear even shorter. It's the most risque thing he has done to his hair since those ill-fated dreadlocks and is happy for the change. Catching glimpses of it as he stands in the bathroom, a bowl of cereal in hand, he cannot help but feel that this is maybe what he needed to stop feel jaded and _old_.

“So was there any special reason why you decided to dye it now? Or was the inch of regrowth too much for you to handle?” he asks with a smirk around a spoonful of Lucky Charms.

Gerard switches the hair dryer off for a second to reply, “I don't like my natural colour. And it's Mikey's birthday. So both.”

“It's Mikey's birthday? Fuck, how old is he now?” he cannot help the stab of guilt that comes with knowing that he has never yet made it to one of his boyfriend's birthdays. Biting his lip a little, he glances down at his bowl and pushes the tiny marshmellow rainbows around.

“He's twenty two, I know right?” Gerard yells over the whirling noise of hot air. Mikey is twenty two, that means that the Gerard before him right now is about twenty five. Frank voices this out loud and is rewarded with Gerard setting the hairdryer down with a smirk, “Yeah, how old are you grandpa?”

“Fuck you,” he throws back, “I'm twenty five too, I think.” He gives a small shrug. He easily looses track of the years and months that he is alive, there are no seasons, no procession of days, weeks to make the time passing, to add it up.

Apparently they are headed out tonight to Mikey and Alicia's place. “Alicia?” he asks curiously, the name seems vaguely familiar.

“Oh my god, you don't know Alicia? You're gonna love her! She's _awesome_.”

Frank grins, “By your tone I'm assuming your brother is ridiculously in love and she's brought you something Star Wars themed recently.” It's a pretty fair bet and he doesn't miss the way Gerard's eyes flicker in the direction of their bedroom.

“He's so lucky to have her. I'd say he doesn't deserve her, but he's my brother so I kind of can't.”  
“Did she buy you the Millennium Falcon limited edition 1/52 scale? Unless you're hiding something more amazing in our bedroom.”

Gerard stops playing with his now jet black hair and whips around to face him, excitement and awe colouring his voice as he practically yells “You've seen it? Isn't it _amazing_?!”

Frank finds himself laughing easily back, warmly explaining that he saw it many years ago but had no idea how he had come by it, “I had much shorter hair then... and was probably afraid of your dick.” It is true, he was. It is a vague and cloudy memory of being here in the house with a Gerard who had to keep his distance. He remembers being weirded out seeing objects and clothes that looked like they would belong to him scattered throughout the house and fighting the realization that this was his future. It hits Frank at that moment that maybe Gerard moving out of here and in with someone else is just a stepping stone. Something that needs to happen in order for them to be together. The thought makes his mouth dry and head spin a little. Despite everything, maybe it is actually necessary and will happen regardless of his actions. Maybe everything was.

Gerard's giggle breaks through his thoughts and Frank watches as he saunters forward, his hips moving and rolling, stating, “You're not afraid of it now,” with another hip swing.

Frank quickly sets his bowl down, easily distracted. “No, I'm not,” he agrees before dropping to the cold tiled floor of the bathroom and tugs Gerard's fluffy pink towel from his waist.

“Oh,” Gerard says with a happy sigh as Frank presses his lips to his soft stomach, “Fuck yeah... Missed you, Frankie.”

He tries not to take too long to revel in the moment of a freshly showered Gerard who smells of fruity conditioner. The _missed you_ declaration does funny things to his stomach and he cannot help but wonder if he has been gone for long, but then again it has become common place for them to say it to each other like some twisted declaration of love and fidelity. Gerard takes this moment to run his fingers along his scalp, searching almost in vain for the longer hair that would let him control Frank's erratic movement. Getting the hint, Frank quickly sucks Gerard's hardening cock into his mouth, bracing himself against the heat of Gerard's body and the cool unforgiving tiles.

“I missed you too,” Frank admits when he stands, swaying slightly and wiping his mouth with a smile. “Shit, you have no idea how much.” Gerard reaches for him easily and crashes their bodies together in a frenzy of sloppy hands and mouths.

Two dogs are snoring on the bed and the sight of them does little to ease the ache in Frank's throat. He longs to play with them, to bury his face in their fur and doggy smell and just _breathe_. He hasn't seen the bigger one – Professor Buckley – in over two years before now and finds himself scratching behind his ears before he knows that he is even doing it.

It hits him again as he pulls clothes out from the wardrobe. Gerard will leave him and there is shit all he can do about it... maybe. “So you wanna go out afterwards?” he asks, tugging a shirt on. He knows this is playing dirty more than anything, the once introverted basement nerd that is Gerard Way loves being taken out. They've fought too many times for it not to be obvious.

“Yeah, if you want to?” Gerard replies with a grin, fishing a pair of black jeans off the floor. Frank nods at him and tells him with a wink that they can do anything he wants. He watches as Gerard raises an unruly eyebrow is a way that seems to ask him if that's a challenge before voicing, “There's a lot of things I want,” with a smirk.

“Oh yeah?” Frank asks, tugging a pair of ripped jeans on without bothering about underwear. He has a sneaking suspicion that it is somewhat of a kink for the man in front of him and is keen to pull out all the stops tonight. He refuses to sit back and passively watch the future fuck itself up. No fucking way. Gerard is not so subtle in the way in his gaze rakes up Frank's body.

“I want to stay in and strip those clothes back of you with my _teeth_ , but I also want you to come with me to Mikey's. I want to go out with you tonight and feel like I'm yours then come back home and show you all the ways I could thank you for making me feel so wanted.” Every part of Frank screams with want too. More than anything he wants him to feel wanted, _his_.

“Hmm,” he replies coyly instead, purposefully wriggling in his jeans whilst threading a pink belt through, “I'm sure we can manage a few of those.” He doesn't add that his time here tonight feels limited and fragile. Gerard doesn't even pretend not to watch his every move and keeps his heavy gaze locked on him. Seeing if it will falter when distracted, Frank asks about Alicia.

“She's gorgeous,” he replies, eyes not shifting away, when Frank inadvertently asks what she looks like. “Dark hair, tattoos, total badass. You'll love her.”

Frank can't help but shift his weight awkwardly before hurriedly shoving a shirt on. He feels a little sick and hopes like hell it isn't evident on his face. Gerard explains that they have been seeing each other for a few months before cocking his head to the side and asking if he is okay.

“Fine, fuck, come on, lets go,” Frank snaps, tugging a pair of shoes on viciously and not noticing that Gerard is barely dressed. He doesn't know what he wants more – for the girl that he saw give his boyfriend a more than friendly kiss to be Alicia or not. Maybe the Way brothers totally have a type. It could possibly explain why Gerard has stuck with him despite the obvious lack of curves. He glances up and sees Gerard blink slowly at him.

“Okay...” he replies, drawing out the syllables. “Did I say something?”

“No,” Frank quickly tells him. “Sorry, just been a rough week.”

Gerard shuffles up to him, shirt in hand and quickly says that they don't have to go out if he doesn't want to. “I'm sorry if I had anything to do with that,” he adds quietly.

“Nah, I'm just being a dick,” Frank clarifies, taking the shirt from his and quickly buttoning it up. “You look good. So I take it you've known her for a while or has Mikey hidden her?”

“I... Yeah, a long time, those two are perfect for each other,” he looks up at him a little shyly with a smile. “Like us.”

Frank pulls away, swallowing hard and fixes his gaze to the chest of draws instead. “I'll get you some socks,” he mutters, fishing out a pair and throws them to him. It weirds him out, them talking like this, especially when the future seems so bleak and uncertain. He knows that he should be trying harder to convince Gerard that he is worth staying for but for some reason, all he seems to be able to do is make things awkward and unbearable between them. Gerard predictably misses the toss and scrambles to pick them up off the ground. He looks confused and uneasy.

“Thanks,” he replies almost cautiously. “But... you don't think we're perfect for each other?”

“Gee, of course, hell, you don't know how happy I am to have you in my life and putting up with shit, especially after the twins.” He watches as the man in front of him flinches a little at the twins comment but keeps his darkened brown-hazel eyes trained on him.

“Then why are you acting so weird about us? I can't talk about us being together without you getting angsty.”

“Not angsty, just excited to see Mikey, it's been ages.”

“You're full of shit and you're going to tell me what's going on later. Now, you're going to put your arm around me and walk down the road to Mikey's, yes?”

Frank opens his mouth to make an excuse but ends up just ducking his head and agreeing with him. He doesn't expect the way that Gerard tugs him in for a hug, pressing an “I love you, baby,” to his ear and sealing it with a swift kiss. He does the only logical thing and twists his head, capturing his mouth and pouring everything he cannot and will not say into it. He longs to plead with him, beg him not to leave but the words don't come and linger instead in the back of his throat like a prayer. Gerard breaks away first, his face flushed and lips swollen.

“Later,” he promises, “Right now it's my brother's birthday and we have to get going.”

“You got him a present? Cause we can pick something up from... somewhere?”

“It's _Mikey_ , I brought him a present from comic con. I'm prepared.” Gerard replies almost smugly, grabbing a bag with a large DC comics logo on it from the closet.

Frank can't help but laugh and tell him that he's amazing, that he was thinking of just getting him a packet of cigarettes that he'd probably end up smoking cause it'd be bad form to stop off at a liquor store to grab a twelve pack. Gerard half-heartedly smacks him upside the head. “Who do you think you are? And who do you think _I_ am?” he tosses him another bag. “You got him something from comic con too. You owe me fifty bucks by the way.”

“Sure,” Frank giggles, thrusting his hips crudely, “You take American Express right?” Gerard rolls his eyes and sighs long sufferingly.

The walk feels like it takes forever but at the same time only an instant. His mind is a mess with apprehension. What if it was her that he saw kiss Gerard? Had she broken it off with Mikey or is she helping Gerard run away? What if it's not _actually_ her and it is someone else? His skin feels like it's crawling and he is much too hot and uncomfortable. Gerard's words of “She's awesome, baby, stop worrying,” do little to reassure his mind or the twisting in his stomach. He stays long enough to see a girl, who must be Alicia open the door before he clutches his head in agony and disappears.

*

Frank spends the better part of a week with the twins when they are barely five years old and have started school. He feels bored and trapped at home, filling his days with daytime television and half-hearted playings of guitar. He finds himself wishing that he would be other places and daydreams about being back in Florence with an older Gerard who would hold his hand and whisper to him in another language. But the ceiling above his bed in the spare room does not contain the answers to get there and it's off white paintwork openly mocks his searching gaze. He sighs and half heartedly reaches for a half-finished book. It is almost time for the girls to be home to break the monotony and he secretly cannot wait. Their simple intrusions in his life here are what stops him from doing his usual tricks to get himself to travel. He cannot concentrate on the pages before him and he finds himself rereading the same sentence over and over again. It wasn't Alicia who had kissed Gerard on that afternoon more than ten years in the future. It twists him up inside not knowing who it is and why they weren't familiar. He closes his eyes and lets the book drop to the ground once more. He's sick of this awful stagnant feeling, of being unable to move forward or back and prays that it doesn't continue to last long.

*

The next time he time travels he winds up still in the house he brought for Jamia. He quickly finds clothes, hastily shoving them on in fear of bumping into his daughters or Andrew. He has yet to spend time with Elizabeth and Michelle as teenagers and is mildly curious if today will be the day. From the way the TV is absently playing a music channel and the smell of buttered popcorn is coming from the kitchen, it is a strong likelyhood. He barely makes a move towards the staircase when Elizabeth comes down with a slightly sour expression on her face. At least he assumes it's Elizabeth.

“Dad! Hey!” she says, tugging him in for a hug. “Wow, you're so young! I like the hair.”

Frank pulls a face, he'd be lucky if he is currently eight years her senior. The teenager before him tells him that Michelle's boyfriend is over at the moment and that he is going to have to pretend to be their cousin or brother. _Brother_. Wow, because that wouldn't be weird at all. Thankfully it clears up exactly which daughter he is talking to.

“Have I met him before?” he asks, following her into the kitchen to pour himself a drink. Elizabeth shakes her head and he is kind of amazed at how perfectly straight her hair is as it settles back around her face.

“Not yet,” she replies, tossing a granola bar to him, “They've been going out for a while though.”

“And you don't approve?”

Elizabeth frowns and picks at screen print of a panda on her tshirt, “She's my sister, no one is good enough for her.”

“Right.”

He quickly finishes off the food and a second glass of water before heading upstairs, despite Elizabeth's half-hearted pleas to leave the couple alone. He feels oddly defensive mounting the stairs two at a time, already a picture forming in his head on what this particular asshole is like. He pushes Michelle's door open after a quick knock and finds her laying on top her bed with some tall, slightly buff looking guy with a bad hair cut kneeling between her legs and kissing her with a sloppy amount of tongue. It's disturbing and gross and more than anything he wants to punch the kids lights out. Michelle breaks off the kiss, breathing hard, her hazel eyes wide.

“Oh my god, Da-Frank! What are you... Knock!”

Frank rolls his eyes in response. He did knock. It takes most of his self restraint not to kill the guy as he sits back out of his daughter's thighs. He goes to ask who the guy is but he is interrupted by the asshole yelling “Dude! What the fuck!” at him. Michelle smacks his arm and introduces Frank to Logan. Logan. Huh. Well that's not right. He extends his hand to shake and cannot quite believe it when he is turned down by the teen stating “dude, no-one shakes hands anymore, besides, can't you see we're kinda busy.”

Frank bristles and glares at Logan. He can't believe that his daughter would be dating such a drop kick. Maybe somewhere along the line he had screwed up and make her hating him so much that she'd date absolute dickwads. He manages to get her outside her room for a quick talk. Michelle blushes and tugs at her skirt every few seconds. He wants to ask for an explanation, a reason but instead furiously whispers, “He's an asshole! He didn't even shake my fucking hand! How old are you anyway?”

“Oh my god, dad! I'm 16! I can think for myself. He's not an asshole, you only just met him!”

“16?” Frank echoes. “You're too young to be doing this.” He tries not to think about how much of hypocrite he is being with this statement. By the age of 16, Gerard was having sex with him. He pushes the thought away. His relationship with Gerard was _different_ and not just some fumbling high school fling. Not to him at least.

Michelle's eyes widen almost comically as she asks if he is kidding. He's not. After a couple of more interrogating questions he manages to learn that _Logan_ is a freshman in college and that he has been seeing Michelle for a couple of months. Great. He tries to calm himself before going back in, intent on giving the guy another shot. Frank lasts about two minutes before he is dragging him forcibly out by his ear. He gets some sense of satisfaction after he knocks the guy unconscious.

“Dad!” Michelle cries, following them out and onto the landing. “What the _fuck_?! What did you do?!”

Frank shrugs and cooly expresses that the guy was trouble and that he wants him out of the house. He makes a move to kick the useless lump of human being down the stairs but pauses. “Wait, does your mother know about him?”

Michelle fidgets, whipping her clammy palms on her black skirt as her twin comes barreling up the stairs frantically asking what the hell just happened. “She... No, but I was gonna tell her! And now there's no way Logan will want me cause you're _insane_! Why are you doing this to me?! You've ruined _everything_!”

He really is not thinking when he opens his mouth and loudly declares, “Bullshit! You marry Scott!”

Michelle flinches and looks confused, crossing her arms. She looks so angry yet vulnerable and he cannot decide if he wants to hug her or fight with her. It was stupid to say what he just did and knocking out Logan was, in hindsight, not the smartest thing he had done in a while.

“Who?! I don't know anyone called Scott! And how do you know he's better than Logan?! Oh, that's right, you don't know, because you don't know anything _about_ Logan!”

“He's kind of an asshole 'Chel,” Elizabeth mutters, pressing herself to the banister. Michelle glares at her twin, clearly suggesting that she thought that she was on her side. Frank watches as Elizabeth shrugs and plainly states “But he cheated on you. Twice! And he never calls unless he wants a booty call.”

Frank really wants to kill him now. No one uses his daughters, his babies. He doesn't pause to think as he drags Logan down the stairs.

“He was drunk! We're passed that now! Guess we're passed everything now, fuck!” Michelle yells.

“Being drunk is no fucking excuse, get your ass back upstairs,” Frank commands, tossing Logan down and spitting in his face as he comes to. “Come back here again and I'll break your fucking legs, you pig.”

Michelle all but attacks him the minute Logan scurries out the door without so much as a glance back. “You think you can control my life?!” she yells, slamming her palms into his chest, “You're never here more than three seconds! You have have no idea about me or what my life is! Just go away!”

It is true. He really doesn't know anything about her or her life. The overwhelming sense of failure is heavy upon him as is the desire to make things right. He grabs her wrist when she turns to walk away.

“Michelle, no! I only want what's best for you!” he pulls a face but doesn't drop his grasp. “Ugh, that came out more parental than what I meant it to. I'm sorry.”

Michelle wrenches her hand back in a way that is disturbingly like what Gerard had done during his detox. She shakes her head, looking at him with a twisted expression of disgust. “You're only sorry because I called you on it! You can't just roll in and act like you're my dad!”

“Well, it's not like you've been totally honest with Jamia or Andrew. And I'm leaving, don't you worry.” His words come out more bitter than he meant them to, but he can already feel the familiar ache in the back of his head and the pinpricks running up his back.

“Good,” Michelle tells him, loading each word with venom. “Go back to your _boyfriend_ like you always want to! Don't come back here!”

He wants to tell her that Gerard is only fourteen and that he won't want to see him any more than Elizabeth does. Instead he mutters to give his regards to Jamia.

“Too scared of being alone but you'll do anything to make sure I am? Great ideals, _dad_.”

Michelle's words cut him and the last thing he remembers before pain explodes behind his eyes is the way his voice betrays him, catching in his throat like a secret.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I would like to personally apologise for the horrendous length of time you guys have been waiting for this. I've had a hell of a busy year (I'll put up a post about it over on my LJ later, so check back there for my ramblings and exciting news). Mutiny has had this done and sent to me, but I just couldn't find the time to go over it, and I'm super protective of this story and insist on seeing it before it gets posted. But here you guys go, merry Christmas. We love you. xoxo H.


	14. Division XIV

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Elizabeth, Michelle, this is Gerard,” Frank supplies carefully, biting his lip a little. But the girls wave hello and brightly echo the usual _nice to meet you ___sentiments.

It seems overly cruel that Frank ends up back in a present where he lives with Gerard in Jersey. He hates having his face rubbed in the fact that some day, Gerard will leave him and that will be that. He should be excited as it is in fact Halloween and the first time in a very, very long time he has been able to experience it, but the overwhelming feeling of dread that has settled inside him keeps him uneasy and flitting aimlessly around the house. The number of children trick or treating who have been stopping outside their door has dwindled now to a small random handful every ten minutes or so. He had shown up less than an hour ago, retching and panting in the small hallway. It had taken him a few minutes to work out what day it was as the Gerard who helped him to his feet and pressed a glass of water into his shaking hands was dressed like a medieval knight. It was the decorations tacked on nearly every available surface that gave it away.

“I can't believe you fucking made it!” Gerard had excitedly exclaimed, thrusting a peanut butter cup at him, “The _one_ year I decide not to dress as a vampire you show up! Mikey was so sure that this year you weren't gonna make it so he's invited people around for a party later on. Just some friends from class and Ray and James...” Frank doesn't remember much more of the conversation as Gerard seemed to no longer be able to control himself, pinning him up against the wall and kissing him until he was dizzy and weak-kneed.

Frank tugs at the red tie around his neck as soon as he is dressed. It is uncomfortable and his fingers are hastily loosening it and undoing the top button of his white shirt before he realizes it. Gerard had tried to convince him to wear his vampire cape this year instead and had gotten as far as digging it out from the back of the closet before finding a fedora and loudly exclaiming that Frank should do his family proud and go as a mobster. He knows that he should be trying to make the most of this time but the weird twisted feeling in his gut keeps him unsteady.

As predicted Mikey shows up with what can only be described as “the party” and their kitchen suddenly becomes crowded with booze and more candy. Frank watches as the scene unfolds and squeezes Gerard's hand in a way that he hopes is reassuring. “You going to be okay?” he asks, yelling over the music now blaring out from the stereo as a girl pours herself a shot right in front of them. “Mikey should know better.”

Gerard's mouth is set at a hard line and Frank doesn't miss the way that he glares at his brother, stating that they had talked about it and that he will be okay. He makes Frank promise to keep an eye on him. Frank nods and presses a quick kiss to his smooth cheek. The Gerard of this present is not much older than the last time he saw him, his hair freshly dyed back to black. By ending back up here so soon, he feels almost like the universe is trying to tell him something. It's not the first time he doesn't get the message.

“I'm here for you,” he yells, “So who are all these people? Should I pretend not to be your boyfriend for the night or do they know?”

Gerard gives a weirdly cute snort of laughter before yelling back that they are mostly Mikey's friends. He gestures to a few people milling around near the door out to the yard, “That's James next to Mikey, Ray you know and Lindsey and Jimmy over there.”

Frank nods, he has met James before and opens his mouth to say so when he sees Lindsey turn around and flick her long dark hair off her porcelain face. She's dressed as some sort of zombie school girl, her long legs clothed in fishnets, combat books and a skirt that is the same as what she will wear that day in the future. Frank feels sick. She's beautiful, he's not blind, and the way she laughs, gesturing expressively with a beer in one had makes her even more so. He drags his eyes away only to realize a weirdly horrible truth about the evening.

“Jimmy has no pants on...”

Gerard pulls a disturbed face, muttering something about how he said that he was going to do that and how he didn't believe him. “You've met Linds before right?” he asks, grabbing Frank's hand and tugging him forward.

Frank tries his best to keep the flood of protectiveness and jealousy out of his voice as he replies carefully “No, I haven't. How do you know her?”

“Oh! You'll love her! She's at art school too.”

“Uh-huh” Frank replies rather unconvincingly. He doesn't want to love her and sure as shit doesn't want Gerard to either.

“You okay?” Gerard asks, squeezing his hand. He sounds a tangled mess of confusion and concern.

“Yeah,” Frank replies, “Just, you know,” he shakes his head from side to side a little, digging out a cigarette and lighting it as a distraction.

“I really don't... Frankie, come on, talk to me.”

“This is the first birthday I've had since I was seventeen, Gerard. It just feels a little weird.” He plasters a fake smile on his face. “Come on, I wanna meet this Lindsey chick.” The excited grin plastered over Gerard's features is more than he can take right now and he finds himself turning his head at the last moment so his lips connect with his cheek instead.

“You're seriously going to love her,” Gerard reiterates and Frank forces his fake smile upwards again, surprised that Gerard doesn't see through his ruse. “Like a female me right?”

“Exactly!”

Frank hangs back whilst Gerard reels Lindsey in for a hug, his throat hard as he watches her press a lipstick red kiss close to his mouth, marking him as hers. Gerard _giggles_ and makes a failed move to wipe it off, not even coming close to succeeding. They talk for a moment before Gerard seems to remember him and motions for him to come closer.

“Frankie, this is Lindsey. Linds, this is my Frankie.”

Frank gives a small polite wave before making a very quick excuse and bolting outside, but not before he feels her pressing against him and kissing his cheek. She feels real now, all heat and berry smells and he comes very close to puking on her black combat boots. Finally outside, his hands shaking with a cigarette between his lips, he tries to calm himself. Mikey comes over and they hold an awkward conversation about the fact that no one says the word _zombie_ in Romero's _Night of the Living Dead_. He steals unintentional glances back inside where Gerard is deep in conversation with Lindsey. Probably about art or something else he can't really talk about. Mikey seems to sense that something is up and pats his shoulder, leaving him alone with his brooding thoughts. He wants to leave and is about to sneak out over the neighbours fence when Gerard slides his arms around his waist, plastering himself against his back.

“Hey you.”

“Oh, hey, Gee.”

Gerard presses a swift kiss to his cheek before sliding around to face him, his skin bleached white and pristine in the light flooding outside. “Tell me what's wrong, baby.”

Frank considers it. He probably should actually do it for once because if it is going to happen, it is going to happen regardless of what he tells Gerard. But on the chance that it is possible to change things, it is worth giving it all he's got. He crushes his fifth cigarette under his shoe and asks how long Gerard has known Lindsey for.

“Lindsey? Just since I went back to art school. Why? You're unhappy about Linds?”

Figures. Naturally Lindsey could be there for him during that difficult time when Frank isn't there to support him, all newly sober and struggling with himself. Frank tries not to be bitter about this and like so many other things, fails.

“She lives in New York, right?”

“Yeah... Baby, what's up?”

Frank shrugs, “I've heard her voice that's all, I've been trying to work out who she was for a while.”

“Then why is she upsetting you? She's my best friend, I can't imagine her ever doing anything to hurt you. Or anyone.” Gerard sounds confused and wary, his brow slightly furrowed.

“It's already happened,” Frank replies bitterly. “'S not much I can do about it.” Gerard blinks widely and quickly asks what did she do, commanding him to tell him. “She's there for you when I can't be. It's nothing bad. I can understand, I get it, it's fine.”

Gerard glares as him, blocking him from leaving. “You are always there for me. Whatever you think you know, it's not true.”

Frank takes this as his moment and looks at him, meeting his eyes for the first time since people had invaded their home. “Don't leave me. I know you will but I thought I should try and ask you not to.”

“No! I'm not going to! Not ever! You're an idiot if you think I'll ever leave you!”

Franks looks away and softly mutters, “I guess I am then,” before more loudly adding, “But I'm beginning to think you're right, that I can't change the future. That not matter what I do it's always gonna end up like this.”

He doesn't quite expect Gerard to grab his face, pulling it back to him and crashing their mouths together in a mixture of teeth and hurt.

“Stop it,” Gerard tells him, pressing their foreheads together, “I am not leaving you. I don't care where you've been and what you think you know but I'm _not_ going to leave you.”

The kiss that follows is softer but carries with it the same amount of persuasion. Frank kisses back reluctantly, not in the mood to feel Gerard try like that. The taller man stalls long enough for Frank to pull back from the forced embrace and tell him earnestly, “You say that now, but in less than six months you'll have moved out. Let's not talk about it, I wanna enjoy tonight with you.”

He watches as Gerard shakes his head, fervently denying that he would move without him. He mistakes Gerard's emotion for sorrow and his hand gets beaten away when he reaches up to touch his cheek, his words thrown back in his face. “I'm happy with _you_! Can't you fucking understand that? Stop acting like you don't mean anything to me!”

“Hey! I was wondering where you two had snuck off to. Can I bum a ciggy?” Lindsey interrupts, bounding up to them. Gerard mutely jerks his head towards Frank before sidestepping back inside.

Lindsey's eyes follow him, concern flitting over her face. Frank digs his crushed packet out and hands it over, forcing himself into conversation with her. He finds out that Gerard stays with her sometimes in New York because of the commute and that he “practically has half of his shit stored there.” Frank makes an excuse and slips away. He knows that he shouldn't doubt Gerard, that he is just blowing this all out of proportion, but the sinking feeling in his gut attests otherwise.

He finds him coming out of their bedroom, tugging on the faux chain-mail. “You okay? Sorry about before,” he apologises as Gerard stares at him, stilling. “I promise I won't say any more about the future. Can I have a hug now? It is my birthday after all.”

“You still believe I'm going to leave you though. Why don't you have any faith in me?”

“Fuck! I don't know, maybe it has something to do with the fact that you _left all my shit behind_ in _boxes_ with _no_ note on the counter and a forwarding address that happens to be Lindsey's where you practically _live_ anyway.” Frank explodes before turning and storming away. He ignores Gerard calling after him and tries to distract himself by talking to Ray.

“Frank.”

“Frank.”

“Ray, hey man... I need Frank for a minute if you don't mind?” Gerard doesn't give him a choice in the matter as he grabs his waist coat and tugs him into the hallway. “Listen for a minute. You don't seem to understand me when I tell you these things, so here it is plain and simple: I love you and I'm not leaving you. Ever. I can't tell you what you saw with the boxes since I haven't lived it yet, but it's not me leaving you.”

Frank nods by doesn't meet his eyes.

“You still doesn't believe me, do you?” Gerard accuses, dropping his hands, “How can I make this right?”

Frank offers a lopsided smiled and a suggestion to leave him a note so he's not slurring drunken messages on his friend's answering phones. Gerard nods and tells him that he will, that Frank should look harder for it as it will be somewhere. Frank prays he will never have to relive that. He's not that strong.

“Are we okay?” Gerard asks cautiously, chewing on what remains of his thumbnail. He barely waits for the minute nod Frank gives him before drawing the shorter man in for a hug. “Happy birthday, baby. I love you.”

Frank hugs back tightly, a soft “I love you too,” falls from his lips before they are captured by Gerard's own slightly chapped ones. It doesn't take them long to build up to a steady rhythm of sliding lips and sweeping tongues, hands gripping each other with white knuckles. It should be immensely relieving but something still doesn't sit right with him, he knows he should want this, want Gerard to understand what he might do in the future and change it and stop the hurt from ever occurring. When he finally shuts off his brain enough to let himself be lost in the heat of Gerard's mouth he becomes ensnared in the fake chain-mail. A giggle unwillingly escapes his mouth as he tries to separate himself. “I've been caught,” he mutters against Gerard's swollen lips. The taller man just grins and kisses him harder, as if trying to pour everything into it, to convince him that they will be okay.

“You didn't get him a birthday present, did you? So you're making up for it in your hallway? Nice!” Lindsey's voice chimes before patting Gerard on the head. Frank feels weirdly off centre with the interruption and his throat tightens quickly as Gerard pulls away, as if he'd been caught doing something he wasn't meant to.

“She's right though,” Gerard says, rubbing his face where the stubble rash is starting to bloom on his pale skin, “I didn't get you anything. I'm sorry.”

“Oh, no, it's fine,” Frank finds himself replying as his heart sinks faster than a bucket of concrete to the riverbed, “it's not like you knew I was gonna be here.”

Gerard pulls a weird face and tells him that he is going to make it up to him tonight and that he's taking him out for breakfast in the morning.

“You're assuming that I'm staying for that long,” Frank corrects him, not really concerned with making him feel bad. Gerard's face falls quickly and his hand darts out to grab his waist, tugging him closer once more, as though scared that he will disappear right that second.

“You're not?” he asks, even though he already knows the answer.

“Another hour at best?” Frank replies with a shrug. “Just feel dizzy,” he doesn't really expect Gerard to grab his hand and drag him to the bedroom, shutting and locking the door behind them.

“Anything you want baby,” he whispers in the half dark, as though they could pretend that their house wasn't filled with random people. Frank is a little confused at when they got a lock. He wants to be petty and bring up the whole present thing, it seems like such a low blow. Every year he makes sure that Gerard gets at least one for his christmas and birthday. He can't help but wonder if he just forgot or if he really believed that he would never actually show up.

“Less pants,” Frank ends up suggesting, “or in your case tunic and leggings, dear god.” Sex seems like a welcome distraction to everything that has been going on around him.

Gerard, it seems, is already ahead of the game and is tugging his costume off, half tripping over in the process. Frank doesn't even bother to undo his own before crowding him, pushing them both down onto their mattress in a frantic action of hands and mouths.

*

It seems that fate really has it in for him as the next time he wakes up after a few misadventures involving a park, the back of an abandoned building block and a darkened, freezing alleyway, it is Thanksgiving. Michelle is quickly throwing clothes at him before Andrew rounds the corner and sees him buck naked in the living room. The twins are much older now, into their mid twenties easily and he can't help but be impressed at how beautiful they are. He follows his daughter into the kitchen where Jamia is cutting potatoes, her dark hair is much shorter now and tucked behind her ears. She embraces him quickly with a grin stating that he is just in time to run to the store to get some things for dinner. He agrees somewhat reluctantly and is tugged away by Michelle to see her new car and to meet another boyfriend. He feels guilty the entire time, wondering if he should call Gerard. But it is a holiday, and one that he knows he probably can't spend with him. He is snapped out of his thoughts about that last time he saw Gerard as Elizabeth dumps another block of chocolate into the basket, loudly exclaiming “Dad, what else did mom say we needed?” with a yawn.

Frank shrugs, he's not even sure what day of the week it is let alone what Jamia actually wanted him to pick up for dinner. “Umm,” he says helpfully, “...something about cheese...?” He pulls a list from his pocket, glancing down at it and then back up at the aisle in front of him. His breath catches painfully in his throat, choking him and freezing him the spot.

“Gee?” he calls out, heart pounding so hard he feels like it going to smash it's way out of his chest.

Gerard stops in his tracks and flicks his head up, “Frankie?”

Frank grins, completely forgetting about the twins as he walks over. Gerard's smile is immediate and warm, brighting his pale features. He looks unfairly beautiful, even in the harsh fluorescent lighting. Frank pulls him quickly in for a hug, relishing the way his body moulds against him so perfectly. He can't help but close his eyes and just _breathe_. It's like coming home, sweet and unshakingly familiar. It takes him a while to realize that Gerard has actually been asking him if he has been here long and is now waiting for a reply.

“No,” he lies, unsure if a few hours count as _long_. “Sorry, I would've called but...” he trails off as Gerard squeezes him tightly as though afraid that he would leave right that moment, then angles himself to kiss him on the lips.

“Dad! Found it!” Michelle calls out, breaking the two apart like guilty teenagers. Frank immediately missing Gerard's warm and reassuring press against him.

“Um, Dad?”

Frank clears his throat awkwardly as Gerard stays frozen to the spot, eyes wide and fearful. He watches as his lips move, whispering out “... _Dad_? This is...” before stumbling backwards a little like he had been punched in the gut.

“Elizabeth, Michelle, this is Gerard,” Frank supplies carefully, biting his lip a little. But the girls wave hello and brightly echo the usual _nice to meet you_ sentiments. Gerard's eyes do not leave them and eventually he is able to croak out a stiff hello. Michelle looks at them both, her expression unreadable as her sister fidgets beside her.

“Dad, we'd better go, don't wanna keep mom waiting,” Michelle states, glancing down at her watch to make them all aware that they have to get home in time to actually eat dinner. Seeking a diversion, Frank swallows hard and sends them to go get ice cream. When they are finally out of earshot, he turns and looks at Gerard, feeling more guilty than anything before. He watches as he chokes a little, his breathing rapid and catching awkwardly in his throat.

“You... Mom?” Gerard eventually is able to spit out before hurriedly looking away, “I... I should go...”

Frank doesn't really think before opening his mouth. But rather than “Wait! I'll come with you?” like he wants to ask coming out, he hears in his own voice “Did... did you wanna come round? For Thanksgiving? I know it sounds like a bad idea but...”

Gerard is clearly freaking out, his hazel eyes wide with dark, sleepless shadows clinging to them. It's not the right thing to say, he knows that, but he is at a loss of what to do, whom to pledge his allegiances to. He fumbles with his jacket, it's been unseasonably cold this particular year, forcing him to bundle up more than he usually would. He doesn't want to think about it being a metaphor for the times ahead. He swallows hard but drops his eyes to the shelf beside them filled with cereal boxes, unable to face the disappointment in Gerard's face. “Unless you already have plans-” he starts again when the taller man interrupts him.

“To your ex-wife's house? With your kids? While you play happy family? I don't think so, Frank.” Gerard shakes his head and keeps some distance between them.

“Oh, right, Uh, you got any plans? I could come over later maybe?” he tries, unsure if Gerard will even want to see him later. Jamia is expecting them home any minute and everything is already prepared. He watches as the man who is meant to mean everything to him hesitates before shaking his head.

“Alicia asked if I wanted to join her and Mikey, but I don't know. Mom and dad are out of town this year,” he pauses before asking in a small, hurt voice “Why didn't you tell me you were back?”

Frank frowns and relays that he hasn't be here that long, that he had literally turned up in the lounge and had clothes thrown at him and then dragged to the store. He doesn't say that he had been too wrapped in the festive atmosphere and the smell of a home.

“Oh, were... were you gonna come around?”

He nods and carefully replies “I was hoping to, but if you're busy it's okay.” He cannot help but duck his head a little, he's fucked this up, big time, his only hope is that this isn't the first time Gerard has met his daughters. He doesn't miss the way Gerard shifts awkwardly and mumbles “ _Hoping to_ ,” before adding “Come over later, I'll be home.”

“You sure?” he replies quickly, knowing full well that Gerard could easily have told him to get lost, that he is spending the holiday with people who actually care about him. A part of him thinks that would've been easier to take rather than the cautious and sad replies of trying to fix them, to put them back together. “I mean, I could send the girls home with this and come with you now, if you wanted,” he offers, knowing that Jamia would forgive him but unsure about the twins.

Gerard shakes his head, his dark hair longer at this time and hanging in messy strands, suggesting that it is exactly what he wants, but instead he forces a smile. “I guess I need to learn how to share.”

“But it's Thanksgiving...” Frank replies with a frown, only to be met by Gerard shrugging.

“So?”

Frank glances into the small, barely filled trolley that Gerard had been pushing around. In it sit his favourite cereal and a tofu turkey along with a haphazard few cans of random things. “You brought tofurky...” he whispers quietly.

“I... Yeah, I was gonna buy tofurkey, just in case you showed up, but I guess I don't need it now.”

Frank hates the idea of that, of Gerard not needing something as simple as food that they both could've shared and crowds him easily, reaching out to touch him and telling him honestly that he is sorry.

“You, ah, you should go find your daughters,” Gerard tells him, swallowing hard when his hand drops, not making contact. He doesn't face him, instead, he focuses his attention on the advertising in the trolley's handle.

“Oh, right, them.” It is too easy to forget that he had been pulled to them, waking up in their house instead of with Gerard. “I'll give you a call when I'm on my way over okay?”

Gerard gives a little nod, adding “And I should get going. I don't think the taller one with the fringe liked the look of me.”

“Oh, that's Michelle,” he tells him, as if that explains everything, “she's...” he searches for the right word in vain. “Just wary,” he settles on finally.

“She doesn't like me. It's fine.”

“No! They were asking if you were gonna be at dinner before we got here. Wait... You've never met them?” It seems so obvious now that he's said it out loud. He watches as Gerard shakes his head, backing away a little more and asking why they would ask that.

He shrugs in response, “I guess they wanted to meet you. Fuck this is awkward.”

“They want to meet the guy who split up their family?” Gerard issues a fake sounding laugh which makes him flinch a little, “You're telling me...” He shakes his head as if to clear it, “Look, go with them. Have dinner with your family. Give me a call if you still want to come over, alright?”

Frank gives a nod in response, his throat tight as Gerard quickly closes the distance between them, leaning in to kiss him only after quickly checking down the aisle to make sure the girls aren't there. The kiss is swift and barely felt, like a habit rather than truly meant. He realizes too late that he had just accepted Jamia and the girls being called _his family_ and quickly anchors his hand on the back of Gerard's head, dragging his lips back to meet his once more.

“Should I call Mikey's first?” he asks when they finally separate.

Gerard forces a smile and thinks about it for a moment before settling on “Yeah,” like he didn't want to sound too pathetic. It is then, as Frank is promising that he will that he notices the girls hovering behind them, smirking and trying not to giggle. His expression must give it away as Gerard suddenly turns and sees them, he jolts back a little as if shocked, stuttering out “I... I-ah... I sh-should, um, fuck. I-”

“You two are so cute,” Elizabeth tells them.

She is strolling closer as Michelle nudges her with a “Shut up! Can't you see how uncomfortable you're making him?”

“Uh, we should probably go...” Frank offers, purposely not looking at Gerard's wide, fearful eyes. He presses a quick kiss to his rough cheek, silently cursing everything as they walk away. The twins wave and loudly call out “Bye, Gerard! Nice to finally meet you!”

“Um. Y-yeah. You t-too,” Gerard echoes.

Frank quickly mouths “I love you” at him, offering a small wave. It's hardly fair compensation for him leaving him, alone in a supermarket, on Thanksgiving. He doesn't hear the soft “I love you too,” which falls heartbreakingly from Gerard's lopsided lips.

Frank ends up stealing Elizabeth's cellphone after dinner and after a few abortive attempts to use the damned thing, eventually gets through to Mikey's house. He hides around the corner, listening to the ringing tone and the sounds of Andrew making yet another crack about renovations. “Come on, Gee,” he begs in a whisper, “pick up.”

It's Mikey instead who answers it. He can clearing hear Gerard in the background asking “Is that Frank?” and doesn't really bother with much more than a “Hi, Mikey, mind putting Gerard on for a second?”

“Why?”

In the background he can make out Gerard getting closer and telling Mikey to give him the phone. “Just put him on,” he tells him before the tell tale sign of the phone being passed over rings out in his ears, “Oh, and happy holidays to you too, asshole,” Frank bitterly adds.

“Yeah, I know, but give me the phone,” he hears Gerard say before finally asking “Frankie?”

“Hey!” he replies quickly, clutching at the small device as if it is his own savior.

“How's dinner?”

Frank breaths a short laugh, sliding down the wall to sit on the floor, “It's hell, Gee,” he tells him.

“Oh. I thought...” Gerard replies, unsure after a beat.

Frank finds himself explaining about Andrew being there and making rude cracks about his tatts and how he conveniently shows up when ever it pleases him. “I'm hiding from them as we speak,” he whispers, not wanting to give himself away just yet.

Gerard gives a short, little laugh. “Oh, right, well. Do you want to come back home?”

“Can I? Please?” he finds himself begging, “I know this a less than ideal situation and I totally get it if you don't wanna see me but-”

“Hm, it kind of is, but of course, I wanna see you- _oh fuck off Mikey_.”

“You sure?”

“Yeah, Frankie, I'm sure, so, ah... how long will it take you to get home?”

It would too awkward to stop everyone in the middle of their festivities but there should be a bus within the hour. He reluctantly hangs up and rejoins his family, slipping Elizabeth her phone back with a thank you and announcing as carefully as he can that he is going.

He makes it half a block from the home he is meant to share with Gerard before feeling so sick that he can barely stumble the rest of the distance. He knows he probably won't make it, but he can't bring himself to give up and surrender to the pain. When he eventually manages to crawl up the stairs, he doesn't even have the strength to knock. He hates knowing that Gerard is inside, no doubt thinking that he missed the bus or changed his mind, that he had used up all his time with other people. He hates knowing that Gerard will probably stare at the clock, waiting before giving up to crawl up as small as he can in their too large bed. He squeezes his eyes shut, panting with exertion. _Fuck, Gee. I'm so sorry..._ is all he has time to think before he is snatched away, leaving only a pile of clothes as evidence that he was ever there at all.

*

It seems all his luck has run out and he destined to not spend any time with Gerard at all as the weeks slowly add up. He's seen the twins at numerous ages but every time he tries to contact the one person he longs to see and hear from the most, something intervenes. The closest he has come is that one time Gerard answered his phone long enough to say “Stop calling, I'm really fucking busy,” before hanging up, leaving him clutching at the phone like an idiot and feeling more lost than he has felt in a very long time. He has all but given up trying, hoping that the universe or whatever higher power is dictating his life sorts its shit out.

*

It's strange that he ends up on another holiday so close to the one that he had previously left behind. Christmas has always been a time of year that he has looked forward to, with mixed feelings of excitement and dread. Michelle is wearing a ridiculous knitted Christmas jumper with mistletoe on it that reads rather crudely in cross-stitch Kisses, bitches and a grin to match as she hands over some clothes. It turns out that it is in fact Christmas Eve and the twins are dead set on dragging him shopping. He tries to call Gerard and isn't surprised at all when it goes straight to voicemail. Unlike the other times, he doesn't leave a message. Elizabeth has the sense not to press for answers on what happened after he had left on Thanksgiving, instead she gives him a close hug that says more than she ever needs to. Michelle and Jamia however don't let it go, cracking jokes about things he should be thankful for until he snaps and tells them that he never made it. That he hasn't seen him again. He cannot stand their sympathetic looks and quick apologies and quickly heads out into the yard, hands shakily lighting a cigarette. He wonders what he did that was so wrong that has stopped him from spending anytime with Gerard at all. He misses him terribly and is too aware of the aching void inside him and in his life by his absence. He eventually gets it together enough to go out the girls and tries to lose himself in the familiarity of their conversations and shared love of chocolate. It's easy, and he finds himself giggling at something Elizabeth has just announced about her best friend's husband. He hears his named called and thinks nothing of it. They are in the middle of a shopping mall and the odds of someone knowing and recognizing him are slim to none. He hears his name again, but it isn't until Elizabeth nudges him that he looks up to see Gerard standing there nervously.

“Um... Hey...” Gerard says, approaching them cautiously. He cuts a quick look to the girls before whispering “I... Ah, again?” Before Frank has much of a chance to reply, Elizabeth steps forward, tugging Gerard into a hug, excitedly exclaiming that it's good to see him again and that he is wearing a very good jacket.

“Uh... You too? And Thanks?” he replies, halfheartedly hugging back as Michelle smiles and waves.

“So, how goes the shopping?” Frank asks awkwardly when they separate, running a hand through his still short hair. He can't help but notice that Gerard doesn't have a single bag with him, a stark contrast to his own heavily ladden arms.

The taller man shifts his weight uncomfortably, stating that he only has to buy for a few people now and he should let them get back to it. He doesn't close the space between them, doesn't kiss him, hug him or even bother to meet his eyes. He isn't quite prepared when Gerard shakes his head and turns away. He feels frozen, like he is watching this as a spectator rather than an unwilling participant.

Michelle nudges him, harshly whispering, “Go after him! We'll be in the food court.”

It seems to knock the air back into him and he yells out for Gerard to wait, quickly jogging after him. He expects him to wait, to turn around or something, but he doesn't. He simply keeps walking, his face a stonewall of emotion. It is only until Frank grabs his sleeve does he illicit any response from him.

“What?” he asks in a weak, defeated voice, whirling slowly to finally face him. He looks tired, everything about him seems to testify to late nights and something more, something deeper.

“I was thinking we could do some shopping together...” Frank starts, forgoing the usual “hello, I miss you, how are you doing?”.

Gerard raises his untidy eyebrows at him, “You've already done most of yours by the sound of it. I'll be here for a while.”

He doesn't miss the bitterness that accompanies those words and quickly states that they were for the girls, that he is their packhorse. He offers it with a lopsided smile that quickly fades the minute Gerard states the obvious.

“But you've been here. Again. You're here and you didn't tell me.”

“I tried to call,” he replies defensively, “your cell went straight to voicemail. Look, if you're busy just say so.”

“I should say the same to you,” Gerard bites back before fumbling in his pocket and pulling out what must be his cell phone, pressing at its button but it's clearly dead, “Fuck!” Frank shrugs and suggest they go get coffee, once again he is not prepared for the look which Gerard gives him or the throw away statement of “You don't wanna keep acting like I don't exist?”

“Wha-?”

“What else am I supposed to think? You promised me but I guess that doesn't mean anything.”

Frank puts his hands up quickly, striding in front of him. “Wait, stop. Supposed to think about what? I tried to call you, just like I tried to get home on thanksgiving. So just fucking tell me what promises I'm breaking to you.” He pointedly ignores the rude stares from passersby. The mall is packed and this is probably the last place he wants to be doing this.

“After you used up all your time with other people? You don't even _remember_? You promised that if you had the choice, you'd come to _me_. I know I can't ask that of you all the time, but the last time I saw you, you were with them and hadn't even _tried_ to see me.”

“Gee...” he starts, shaking his head, “it's not like that.”

“Then what? You just don't want to spend any holidays at all with me? You wanna see them and then _try_ to see me before you disappear?”

“Fuck! You'd think I'd be here, doing this right now if I didn't?” he backs down quickly. “Look, I'm sorry. I'm so fucking sorry. I'm just trying to figure out how this all fits together.”

Gerard looks at the floor, suddenly interested in the scuff marks down there. “It doesn't,” he says quietly after a beat. “I don't fit anymore.”

“What?” he asks, waiting, and after receiving no response, moves cautiously forward, tipping his chin up in the effort to get him to meet his eyes. “Look at me,” he says softly. “Of course you fit,” but Gerard shakes his head, jerking away from his touch.

“You, them. I don't fit,” he reiterates.

“Don't say that. It's not true,” Frank begins. “I know this is hard and-”

“Do you?” the taller man interrupts, half whispering, “You're not the one about to spend Christmas alone-” he cuts himself off before Frank even gets the chance. “People are supposed to be with their families on Christmas. Yours doesn't include me, Frank.”

Frank reels back slightly, demanding to know why he'd say something like that. Of course Gerard is his family, he's more than that, he's his closest friend, the person he falls asleep next to or wishing more than anything he could be curled up against.

“I'm not,” Gerard tells him flatly. “You have kids now. I can't take you away from that, you're supposed to be with them-”

“They'll be fine, you're not taking me away from anything.”

“They shouldn't just be _fine_ on Christmas Day. They should be with their parents,” Gerard bites at his bottom lip and turns to walk away from him.

Frank does the only rational thing he can think of and grabs Gerard roughly, yelling at him that the twins are twenty-six, that they have lives now, they are not little kids. “I want to be with you!” he tells him, despite the way he is flinching. “Don't walk away from me!”

Gerard doesn't turn to face him, evenly telling him, “Even if you come back with me, it won't feel right. It doesn't matter how old they are. I'd be taking you away from your family. I won't be that person, Frank. I have been up until now but I won't anymore.”

“You _are_ my family!” Frank yells, his voice feeling like it is being ripped out of his throat.

“I'm not, Frankie. They are,” Gerard replies, making it sound like a hard truth, one that he cannot change.

It makes Frank beg, yelling at him to stop and listen, to give him a chance.

Gerard starts to walk away again, pausing only to quietly whisper, “I love you, Frankie, so I can't force you to choose.”

“I choose you!” he finds himself crying, trying to stop him. “Fuck, Gee, don't do this. Please, just give me a chance.”

“To do what?” Gerard spits, turning around, his teeth clenched as if trying to stop himself from screaming or bursting into tears. “Take them shopping and have a happy-family Thanksgiving? Cause you've done that already. I'm sorry I made it so hard on you for so long.”

“What are you saying?” Frank eventually chokes out. “Are you...?”

Gerard sucks in a short breath, his eyes glancing around. “I'm saying if you want them, it's okay. I understand. I can't say it won't hurt, but I understand.”

“Of course I want them! Just like I want and need you,” his words are soaked in desperation and pleading. This can't be the end. He won't let it. He won't... Gerard chokes a little and he finds that his hands are now twisted in his jacket as he pleads helplessly, “Please, can we just go somewhere else?”

More people are staring at them now, a few shaking their heads as if to say _It's Christmas, it's meant to be the season of love and giving._ More than anything, he is aware of what Gerard has given him over the years and how much he has strived to give back to him, to make himself worth his time.

Gerard steps closer to him, softly touching his cheek and telling him, “Maybe later. Go and see your kids, Frank. I've taken up too much of your time.”

Frank panics, trying to hold back the sobs that threaten to tear out of his chest. “Don't do this now. Don't- Just don't.”

“You can't choose, Frank, I know that. But this has happened before. Since you told me about Jamia, I've been wondering if it will happen again, not prepared for it, but aware.”

“Since what happened with her? I'm not fucking going back to her! I thought I had made that clear!”

Gerard shakes his head, taking a step back. It is his calmness that has Frank feeling sick. “But you stopped going to her – stopped loving her – when your connection to me got stronger. Now you have a new connection, by blood, and two of them. How could I stand a chance?”

Frank reaches out and grabs him, hard. “You stand a chance,” he practically spits, tightening his grasp. “You think I don't ask you when you're older about it?!”

He feels him flinch and mutter quickly, “Ow, Frank, let go, you're hurting me.” He tries again to tell him that he stands a chance but Gerard shakes his head again. “I can't do _anything_! Neither can you! You know that! If anyone could do anything, you'd still be with Jamia.”

“Don't- Don't say that...” Frank replies, letting his hands drop.

Rubbing his arms where they had been imprisoned in Frank's too hard grip, Gerard tells him openly, eyes glistening with held back tears, “I can't do this, Frank. I love you, but I can't do this now.”

His world collapses around him as those words are spoken, his guts feel like they've been plunged into freezing water. It's over. They're over. Gerard has said he can't do it anymore. That he won't do it anymore. “Oh...” he eventually mumbles, “I... fuck...” he turns away quickly, unable to deal with what has just happened. He feels completely numb and unable to do anything but walk away, his eyes unseeing. How could he have been so stupid? How could he have expected Gerard to stay with him? It all makes sense suddenly, why Gerard moved out. Of course, who the fuck would want to stay with him, when he's not even able to make it on the few important days of the year? Every breath catches in his throat, even footfall feels like lead.

He doesn't expect to feel Gerard's hand on him, his voice echoing shakily, “I... I'll always love you.”

Before he can think to respond to the finality of that statement, Gerard's touch and voice are gone, whisked away like they were never there in the first place. He is left with nothing but ghosts, memories of touches, whispered words and a gapping, ragged void where his heart and everything that used to matter to him resided. He is left wanting to have the strength to turn around and make him want him, make him accept him, but he can't. He heads aimlessly back towards where he was originally standing with the twins and leans against one of the walls of a shop. He doesn't see the dirty glances or people's whispers about homeless scum. All he can hear is the repetitive thud of his own heart beat, too heavy in his own chest. It serves as a cruel reminder that he is in fact, still alive and now without the one person who matters more to him than anything else. He doesn't feel the tears as they drip down his face, or the way that Michelle suddenly envelopes him into a hug. Everything is numb and plastic feeling, a shadow, a broken promise. He doesn't see the way that Elizabeth stares at him with concern, or the way she sprints in the direction Gerard went. He doesn't even really feel the tell tale signs of his impending departure until his breathing stops and his heart races and he leaves behind nothing but a set of warm clothes.

*

Everything is a mess. He can barely stay for an hour before he is taken away to some other time and place. He doesn't see Gerard, not even a glimpse. It is probably better that way. The abrupt and sudden time travel wrecks his body, giving him fevers that will not break and a bile scarred throat. He can't remember what it was like to be happy, to feel whole. He doesn't allow himself to replay what had happened. He doesn't allow himself to remember what it was like to be held.

One afternoon during a particularly cold November in Michelle's house, Frank stumbles upon an old photo album. It is bizarre to see photographs of him as an older person, his hair uniformly dark once more. It seems so odd to see himself smiling, his eyes alive as he plays with Michelle's three sons. Finding out about them had been a shock, even more so when he had found out that she had called one of them _Frank_ after him. Grandsons. Grandsons who are, at this very moment, away living separate lives, one of them having just had a child of his own. A great-grandchild. None of them are time travelers and he cannot help but be relieved. He turns the page in the undated album, its acid free pages thick in his hands. Stuck in almost as an after thought are a few snapshots of him out in the yard. His skin is tanned and covered with more ink. He looks happy, really happy despite the few extra pounds he is carrying with him and the beard taking up his neck. It's hard seeing himself like that, like he might actually have a future. It is the curling tattooed script that winds its way around his hips that has him transfixed. _Search And Destroy_. That sounds about right. He snags one of the photographs out and quickly tucks the album back where he found it. Michelle gives him the directions for the closest tattoo shop and a handful of cash. She doesn't ask questions or try to argue with him as she has done so many times before. With a quick goodbye he heads out to scar himself with what he believes on the inside. He doesn't allow himself to think of Gerard as the needle pierces his skin with repetitive vibrations.

He keeps running, trying to find a way to rebuild his life. Sleeping and living practically on the streets isn't helping him to feel any better but he quickly finds himself avoiding even the twins. He is too ashamed to have them see him like this, a broken mess of dirty patchwork skin. He has shown up a few times at the Jersey house he is meant to be sharing with Gerard, leaving every time he can. It is too painful to face what he cannot have in the future and has given up on all hopes of a reconciliation. This doesn't stop him from watching him go about his daily activities a few weeks later, winding a scarf around his neck as he leaves the house, staring absentmindedly out of the kitchen window. It should feel creepy, watching him have a life in which he doesn't belong, but it doesn't somehow. Soon his cautiousness begins to fade, taking with it his resolve to respect Gerard's wishes and to stay away. There is still something for him here, in the decaying past of his failed relationship and it is pulling him in like he is trapped in the pull of a black hole.


	15. Division XV

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Frankie? Baby? You awake?”
> 
> Again, Gerard's voice plagues him, but this time, it's so much closer and so much louder, so much more believable. More than anything Frank wishes he could reply and play along to an unscripted role.
> 
> “Hey, shhh, it's okay. Just breathe, baby, just breathe.” And then there is a kiss to his temple and his hair been pushed back from his clammy forehead. “Just sleep okay. I'm here. I'm always here.”

Frank doesn't expect to see her again. To see her in _their_ house, her hand resting possessively on Gerard's shoulder. It does more than just wound him to see them like this again. He knows that Gerard has said that she is just a friend, but seeing them, standing in the kitchen like the perfect domestic couple fills him with such grief he is lucky they don't hear his choking sobs or whispered curses. He walks away, unable to face what the rest of the evening might hold for him if he keeps watching. His cough is getting worse from too many nights spent outdoors. It fucks with his head, leaving him dizzy and out of sorts to the point where he wakes up suddenly in situations with no knowledge of how he actually got there.

Frank blinks, the music is too loud here and the press of bodies is too hard. The guy currently pressed against him yells and asks if he is okay. He opens his mouth to yell “No!” especially when he becomes aware of the guy’s hands on his hips and the way he is grinding against him. But then the thoughts of Gerard come flooding back. He tries to convince himself as he goes back to the guy's apartment that Gerard wasn't special, that maybe it was just because he was the first guy he'd ever slept with. The guy – Alex or something is kind of attractive, all blue eyes and dark hair with close fitting jeans and an easy smile. It is too easy to get lost in the touch of his hands and unfamiliar kisses. His head is swimming with alcohol and something strange. Something wrong. It should feel good, having someone's thighs wrapped around him and their hot breath licking up his neck, but it doesn't. It's a quick fuck. Nothing special, nothing meaningful and as he rolls off, tugging off the condom filled with his betrayal, he tries once more to convince himself that Gerard was just special because he had a dick, nothing more, nothing less. But the way he feels all numb and twisted up inside does little to persuade him that this is the truth. He stumbles to the bathroom with a painful cough and is gone.

*

Days, weeks, months trickle past in a haze of pain, seasons, raw skin and fitful sleeps on frozen park benches. There is no safe haven, no place of rest or acceptance. He watches Gerard through waxen eyelids as he goes for coffee in the morning, walks home, talks with the girl with the tattoos, buys the paper. His charcoal smudged fingers half hidden in sleeves of bad jackets and grocery bags. He watches the seasons melt and freeze. He watches everything move on without him. He watches his girls grow into lives, into themselves. He doesn't interrupt. Doesn't make contact, simply lingers like an echo, a reminder of what once was. Everything is cut off and even as he sits on the chipped and worn bench, watching as crowds of people make their way down the sidewalk to destinations and commitments, to loved ones, to jobs and food and happiness, he is numb. He doesn't notice the way that the dates stack up, the way he keeps appearing into the same time. His lungs fill with fluid and it gets harder to open his eyes, let alone find clothes and food.

There is one moment of clarity, one moment where the universe seems to be really out to get him. Rather than waking up in the same place in New York, Frank finds himself coughing and retching on his hands and knees outside the house in Jersey. The one he shared with Gerard. It feels like an age ago. He blinks as tears burn their way out. The one thing he is not prepared to hear as he lays down in the cold damp grass is his own name.

“Frank!?”

He's not sure where the noise is coming from, but the sound of it moves something inside of him, like a reflex, a desire to answer it. His breathing hitches a little before another cough breaks from his chest. It's late in the afternoon and the air is filled with the hum of late autumn and the sounds of children.

“Frankie!?” The voice yells again before footsteps echo out of an opening door. Frank blinks up at the voice and is unable to process the fact that Gerard is here, in front of him, with a lopsided grin on his face and a blanket in one hand. The world seems like a dream, soft around the edges and slow. He knows that this was a possibility all along, that sometime or another he'd have to talk with Gerard, confront him in a past where he is blissfully oblivious, and like a drowning man struggling for just one more breath he takes it, savouring the sweetness, the burn of life in his veins once more. He wonders if Gerard remembered this before telling him that he couldn't do this, do _them_. He has wondered a lot of things but right now he can't resist the urge to embrace the moment and all its promise. Just one more hit. Just one more.

“Hey,” Frank offers with a small smile before the blanket is thrown over him and Gerard kneels down, hugging him tight. It takes a slow minute for Frank to raise his arms to return the embrace. His limbs are sluggish, hesitant to remember what it is like to move and flex. It is not long before he is shaking and burrowing his head into Gerard's neck, feeling the way his vulnerable throat moves as he speaks the same words of “Come on, come inside.” His feet feel heavy and uncooperative as he stumbles into the house, staring at the once familiar surroundings. It feels like a movie set, all props and staging. It is hard to believe that this was once his life and now... He's not sure what this bitter reality is. He is barely aware of Gerard rushing into the kitchen and throwing a poptart into the toaster before returning with a water bottle with the instruction to drink. Frank takes it and manages only a few sips before his lungs ache and he coughs hard enough to make his head spin and bile rise in his bruised and torn throat. He somehow finds himself bracing his arms on his knees for support with Gerard's hand rubbing his back.

“Hey, hey, shhh, slow down.”

“Sorry,” he spits out once he can manage a full breath. “I, uh-” the excuse is interrupted by another cough before he is able to get it out. “Just getting sick.”

He doesn't see the way Gerard's face changes as he takes in the way Frank is hunched over, sleepless nights etched on his face and scrapes on every inch of his body. “No... that's not sick, not only at least. Are you alright?”

“Yeah,” Frank lies. “I might go take a shower though.”

Gerard's hand reaches out and takes the water bottle from him, his spare hand reaching up to gently touch Frank's stubble rough jaw before pressing a soft, slow kiss to the corner of his mouth. “Alright. I'll find you clothes-” is all that escapes him before Frank grabs him, kissing him urgently. The heat and taste of him explodes over his tongue, numbing his lips and setting fire to his head. He can't breathe, can't think of anything but the way the moment feels. Everything falls into place and for those brief moments, he's home. He doesn't even feel the blanket slip from him, only presses into the warmth and weight of Gerard against him. His hands move feverishly over Gerard's body, taking in every inch of heat and skin. The whimper that breaks from him only spurs him onwards, seeking and chasing and it is only when Gerard's hands anchor themselves on his chest and push back does he snap back to some semblance of reality.

“Frankie...” Gerard pants, his eyes bright and face slightly flushed. “What the hell was that-”

Frank doesn't give him the chance to finish, just tangles fingers in his hair and drags them together again. The moan that slips from Gerard's lips moving against his own is too much, too perfect.

“You're not leaving in a moment or something, are you?”

Frank shakes his head as Gerard's hands slide down his bare skin, burning and etching their way into his veins. He can't help but trail his mouth down his jaw and neck, insistent and desperate.

“Frankie! Frankie...”

He can't stop, not now, not with the way it all feels, like he's finally alive, like he's... He slips his fingers up under the hem of Gerard's shirt and feels him tense and wriggle away. He keeps going, chasing after the sensation but suddenly there is nothing but space and air caressing his fingertips and he is forced back into the present with a stuttered apology.

Gerard is breathing heavily as his cheeks colour. “It's alright," he assures, but it doesn't sound quite enough like the truth.

“Um, shower.” Frank replies lamely before turning and heading to the bathroom.

He doesn't have to see to know the smile is on Gerard's face as he replies “Yeah.”

The shower is hot, blessed in its painfulness against his skin. The steam catches in his lungs and forces him over, coughs tearing out and causing spots to appear in his vision. It hurts like hell and even a breath in seems like acid. There is a knock at the door, sure and deliberate.

“Yeah?” he replies when he can summon a clear enough breath and get his vocal chords to co-operate.

“Just some clothes, I'll leave them here,” Gerard's voice rings out against the sound of the pounding water.

“Thanks. I'll be out soon,” Frank quickly replies despite his intention to remain there forever. He doesn't even think before the words slip from his mouth “Could you stay? Please?”

“Oh, sure.”

“So, how are you? Enjoying not living in the basement?” Frank asks, taking a rough guess at the past he has found himself in.

Gerard laughs keenly. “Oh god, yes!”

“Good! Class going okay?”

It's so strange for this conversation to be happening, all normal, as though nothing has happened. Which, technically, it hasn't. The future is just a heartbeat away, a landslide, a slip, a scar in time where they will be separated.

“Yeah, I just got some marks back and I did good in my illustration paper.”

“Congrats! That's good news!” Frank reluctantly turns off the shower as Gerard hands over a towel. It's strange how easy it is to slip back into this, the routine of it all. He quickly dries his hair off, then his back before wrapping it around his hips. Gerard's cool fingers reach out, almost ghosting on his skin where the ink is fresher, cleaner, deeper.

“They're new, cool.”

“Mmm.”

Gerard looks up at him, his eyes open and honest, no longer clouded with booze. “Ah, don't wanna talk about it? You know I'm here if you do.”

Frank shrugs and distances himself. “There's not much to them,” he replies, quickly tugging the clothes over his damp body.

“I'm here. Alright?”

All he can do is nod and give into the urge to kiss him again, murmuring “I've missed you,” against him.

“I've missed you too. But you're here and you need to eat, so come on.”

Eating turns out to be the poptarts retoasted and an offhanded comment about Frank cooking for them later. Cooking. Fuck. He can't remember the last time he was even in a kitchen, let alone what a frying pan felt like in his hands. He offers to cook for them now, mentioning that he is in fact staving. It's the truth. Heaven knows how long he's been eating out of garbage bins and making do with people's discarded sandwich crusts. It turns out that the fridge is actually reasonably well stocked and without putting much though into it Frank quickly assembles vegetables and defrosts some steak from the freezer. The normalcy of the action is relieving but he knows that it will not last, neither will Gerard's hands, which have taken up residence on his hips.

“Can I help?”

_Yes._ “I think I'm okay.” _I'm really, really not._

“Okay, baby.”

Frank bites his lip at the nickname so carelessly leaving Gerard's mouth and buries himself in the task of cooking for them. Time slips past quickly and it isn't long until he is carrying the plates out to the living room and handing one over with cutlery.

Gerard eyes it with curiosity. “You made me meat?” he asks before adding “Fuck, you're amazing.”

It isn't until Frank is seated on the couch, his knife slicing eagerly into the food that Gerard looks over.

“Wait... Frank?”

Frank doesn't pause and has his fork almost to his mouth before Gerard's pale hand shoots out and grabs his hand with a loud “No! That's meat, Frankie...”

Frank blinks at him. “Yeah, it is...” He shrugs.

“You don't eat meat!”

“It's not a big deal...”

“Yes it is! Baby, you haven't eaten meat ever since I've known you, not once.”

Frank looks down at his heavily laden plate. “Oh, right.” He quickly gets up and puts his plate back on the bench reluctantly. “You want something else?”

“Frank, what's going on?” Gerard asks, following and placing his palms either side of his face gently, making him look at him.

Swallowing hard, Frank does the only thing that really feels natural and lies. “I'm just tired.”

“You should know that I know that's a lie. I mean, if you don't wanna tell me then I guess I can't make you, but I know there's something.” Offering a little shrug and not replying, Frank watches as a sad smile tugs at Gerard's lopsided lips. “Alright,” is all that Gerard says before leaning down for a kiss. Frank cannot resist the urge to kiss back, hard, desperate, as if it is the only thing he is sure of anymore. Gerard's fingers slide around to the back of his head, anchoring themselves in the grown out mess of his old mohawk. Somehow they end up stumbling to the bedroom, like so many times before. Frank's hands are quick to map out each part of the warm body pressed against him but it is only when his hands slip under Gerard's shirt do they break apart.

“Mmmm no... no, no,” Gerard murmurs, tugging his shirt back down protectively.

“Please, I need you...”

Gerard's lips almost reluctantly claim his again, his fingertips pressing softly against the still sensitive ink. “What are they, Frankie?” he whispers, kissing along his jaw. “What are they?”

Frank cannot help but moan and arch into his touch before the sudden inhale of breathing causes him to almost double over with the coughs that tear their way out of his lungs. “Just writing,” he replies when he is able to get his breath back.

“I can see that,” Gerard giggles. “What do they mean?” He touches them gently before spelling them out “Search And Destroy...”

The words hang, lingering in the still air between them. Gerard is young and Frank is painfully aware of this fact. He knows that there is no way Gerard will grasp the meaning of them and how they sum everything up for them. It's more than a song reference, it's his life. Everything he touches, everything he seeks and searches out only meets unfortunate ends and Gerard is the perfect example of this. He can't help but wonder how much better off the dark haired guy will be without him in his life, without him in his bed, in his dreams, halting and pausing his life in pivotal moments.

“Why are you so hurt, baby?”

Frank flinches back at that, despite Gerard's reassuring grip on him. “You can't tell him,” he whispers, panicking. “You can't tell the younger me, not yet?”

“Tell him what?” Gerard asks, confused. “You haven't told me anything.” Frank simply shakes his head. He can't bring himself to voice it, voice what the future holds for them. Gerard sighs and kisses him quickly before climbing off the bed. “I get it, I'll go find the cough medicine.”

“I'll be fine,” Frank tries to reply but succeeds only in coughing harder.

When Gerard returns with the medicine, he doesn't climb back onto the bed with him. He simply hands over the meds, tells him to sleep and leaves him with a brisk kiss on his forehead. He makes the excuse of needing to finish some sort of painting or something. Frank almost wishes he had listened harder as he lays there, stomach rumbling painfully. He contemplates sneaking out into the kitchen and helping himself to the dinner he never got to eat, but the smell of Gerard in the room makes him lose his thoughts. He tries not to let it get to him, and the fact that the connection between them feels just as strong... He can hear Gerard in the kitchen, opening a few draws, the scrape of cutlery on the plates and the sound of the refrigerator being opened. He wonders if he has missed his chance or if he bides his time for long enough... Gerard's footsteps head out of the kitchen and down the hallway. Frank's heart is beating hard in his chest, he doesn't want to be caught and shamed when he should be resting, but the promise of an actual _meal_ is too great to ignore. He sneaks carefully into the kitchen, grabbing both plates out with a small twinge of regret and heads back quickly to the room. Even mostly cold, the food is still good and he eats it faster than he should and stashes the plates under the bed before sinking back down to the pillows.

He has barely dozed off when Gerard re-enters the room and sinks down onto the bed.

“Oh? You're awake?”

“Yeah,” Frank replies hoarsely, rubbing his eyes a little. “Kinda sick of sleeping.”

“You should if you're getting sick though. Let your body recover and all.”

“But sleeping means I don't get to see you.”

Gerard grins as his cheeks colour slightly. He goes to stand to turn the light off but ends up tripping over the small stack of plates, half hidden under the bed. “What the...? Oh.”

“Sorry, I was hungry,” Frank quickly apologizes before Gerard waves him off dismissively.

“I heard you grab food. You don't have to hide the plates, you know.” He giggles as he bends down to pick them up before heading back out into the dark kitchen. It is a decent few minutes before he returns with a water bottle and furrowed eyebrows. “Here,” he states, passing the bottle over with a concerned expression of his face that automatically puts Frank on edge. “Did you, ah... Did you eat all the leftovers?”

“Yeah, sorry. I haven't been able to eat much lately.” Frank feels ashamed to admit that and knows that his cheeks are slowly warming.

Gerard shakes his head quickly before sitting down beside him. “I don't mind you eating lots just... there was meat.”

“So?” Frank blinks.

“I know I have no idea what's happened whenever you've come from, but every time you come to me, no matter what age, you're vegetarian. And don't get me wrong, I know it's your choice what you eat, I just... I don't understand.”

Frank shrugs, fiddling with the covers before quietly replying, “I guess it just didn't really matter anymore.” He watches as Gerard flinches back, as if he'd been struck.

“Really? That's it? You _guess_?”

He is quiet for a moment, trying to work out a way to really tell him the truth. His tongue feels thick and awkward as he gently breathes “I just... didn't think I needed to make a point of it anymore. I can't control what food is available to me in the future so I may as well get used to it.” He doesn't expect Gerard to lean in close, cupping his cheek with one hand, his dark hazel eyes sad.

“Go _home_ , Frankie. When you go back to the time you're usually in, come home, where ever home is then. Let me look after you there.”

He doesn't even notice the tears that have welled up and slipped down his cheeks until Gerard slowly wipes them away with his thumb. “I can't,” is all he is able to squeeze out.

“You can,” Gerard replies reassuringly. “I don't know what happened but you know we are better off together. There's nothing we can't fix.”

“You're wrong, this we can't...” It takes all his strength not to spill everything that has happened in the past few months. It's hard and he's so sick of keeping it inside himself.

“No, you're wrong. Believe me. I know me, and I know you.”

Frank quickly turns his head, unable to forget the look on Gerard's face that Christmas Eve. It feels carved into his eyelids, so that every time he closes his eyes he is reminded of his failures. Every time he opens them, he sees it.

“Frankie,” Gerard pulls his head back around slightly to face him. “Tell me you'll try.”

After a few shaky breaths, Frank nods and promises to try. In return he is graced with a hopeful smile from Gerard.

“Good. 'Cause I love you and it's not fun seeing you like this.”

Frank has barely the strength to nod back before he announces that he is going to go soon. Taking the hint, Gerard shuffles closer and kisses him hard, clinging to him until he is left with nothing but an empty bed and still warm covers. “I love you,” he whispers to nothing.

*

The first thing Frank feels is the way his knees are pressed uncomfortably against the floor and the thick breath trapped in his lungs. The air doesn't stay there too long and breaks out in a series of hacking, bloody coughs. He is the middle of a strange living room that is filled with mismatched furniture and little paper sculptures. His ears are ringing and it takes a moment to realize that the buzz of noise is in fact a drawn out cry of surprise and footsteps. He whips around to find the source of the noise and quickly stumbles to his feet despite the pain drilling through his skull and attempts to dive behind one of the faded couches. Almost comically, he misjudges the distance and ends up practically braining himself on the coffee table. He barely has time to try and work out where the fuck he is before he comes face to face with Lindsey. It's her, no doubt about it. Dark hair tied back in loose pigtails, red lipstick and flawless porcelain skin. Her painted mouth is currently opened in surprise and he the best he can do is attempt to cover himself.

“Frank?!”

He winces and stares back at her with wide eyes, mind racing about how to come up with a good explanation for suddenly appearing in her living room. It's in that split second that he spots it, Gerard's stack of comic books on the coffee table. It's definitely his, the way they are kept in such good condition with the rare collector’s edition of Doom Patrol on top of it. The Doom Patrol that Frank had bought for him. His head swims and he feels sick. All it takes is a few glances around to see the full picture, Gerard's hoodie tossed over the back of a chair, his boots near the door, his packet of cigarettes on the kitchen bench, his fucking _life_ here. He can barely breathe as it is before the inevitable-

“Lindsey? What the...oh...”

Frank is on his feet before he knows it, scrabbling for the door, pushing past Gerard and his hopeful, wide eyes. He sprints down the hallway, all too aware of the footsteps following him until he is able to duck down a stairwell.

Gerard's voice continues to echo throughout the hall, calling for him and he has to physically clasp his hand over his mouth to stop himself from crying out. Gerard has moved on and is living _without_ him, _happily_ without him. This wasn't meant to happen. They were supposed to be happy _together_ and get old and read books and fuck and fight and make up and _live_. He hears Gerard swear loudly and Lindsey's calm voice of comfort. It's obvious that he's gate-crashed their lives. He sits on the cold cement staircase until his legs are numb. Gerard hasn't come to find him, so it's painfully obvious to whom his loyalties now lie.

As Frank eventually makes his way down into the basement level of the building to hide, he can't help but mentally curse younger Gerard for being so wrong, for filling with such a false hope that they would be okay. That they would make it. The truth of it, that he doesn't want him, he doesn't want him home. The numbness lapses back in as he sits and waits before finally dissolving in the frigid air.

*

He spends the next... however long barely existing. He doesn't smoke, doesn't eat, doesn't drink. He sits and waits for nothing, simply sliding through time like a spectre. There isn't a point to anything anymore. He's given up trying. He slips around New York. He doesn't see Jersey, doesn't see his kids or anything familiar other than Gerard. There is no more appearing at the Jersey house that he is meant to share with his ex-boyfriend, no more running away. He can't. He's lucky if he can even draw a decent breath. Blood chokes him as the cold seeps into his bones through fragile, broken skin. He knows he's sick, really sick, the way his vision swims so absolutely in front of him is proof. He doesn't call for help. He doesn't try. All he can do is tug the foul smelling coat around him and try his best to sink further into the park bench he is currently lying on. He doesn't need to look to know that across the street, Gerard is walking with his sunglasses slipping down his nose and two coffees balanced in his hands.

A week slips past, then several, then three months.

Frank loses everything.

*

There are arms around him lifting him free from his position on the bench, but Frank doesn't feel them. There is someone's voice in his ear, but he doesn't hear them. All he can do is cough, too used to the taste of coppery blood in his mouth. Through the knowledge that he is dying, he thinks that maybe it is all a dream, that maybe it's Gerard's voice that is calling him, that it's Gerard's hands on his numb body. Frank knows that he's talking, but his reality is punctuated with dreams that hurt and lungs that won't drag in a proper breath. He feels like he should be dead by now, and wishes more than anything for the sweet release of it.

But it does not come.

The voices, however, grow stronger, more apparent and a little less murky.

“You think I don't know that? I looked for him every day!”

“Not fucking hard enough! He needs to be in a hospital – and don't give me that look, I know he can't. You think I haven't thought of all the issues surrounding identity theft or insurance? You should be lucky you found him here, when we actually have the meds to fix this relatively quickly, not ten years ago.”

“Are you... are you sure he's gonna be okay?”

“Yeah, with a bit of luck, he will be just fine.”

“I don't know what... Frankie? I'm here, I'm here and you're safe.”

The voices fade out for a bit and distantly Frank imagines that he's lying on a bed and that he can smell coffee. It's the most comfortable he has been in months. He imagines that he can hear his daughter, her voices mixed with Gerard's.

“I never knew a dad when he was with our mom, you've always been all he's ever talked about. Sure, it was weird that you were actually younger than us... and went to school, like, just down the road. It's strange that you were never really close to Michelle, she's like the arty one of the family and reads and shit. Smoke?”

“But I was sure she hated me,” Gerard replies. “Uh, sure, thanks. I was sure you both would hate me actually, even just on principal.”

“Why would you think that?”

“Cause I'm with your dad but I'm not your mom? Cause he spends time with me when he could be with you? Cause I'm a guy? I don't know.”

“Seriously? You being a guy is so not even an issue. You have no idea how happy you make him, how disgustingly miserable he is when he can't see you.”

“He... What?”

“Seriously, disgustingly miserable. He mopes around and doesn't wanna do anything. He doesn't play guitar, he drinks a ton of coffee, smokes a ton of cigarettes and only leaves the house when Aaron comes around.”

“I... I didn't know... I mean, we've been fighting all the time recently. It's been a long time since I've seen him smile.”

Frank can imagine Gerard looking down into his coffee mug, and what sounds like Elizabeth dragging him in for a hug, telling him that things will work out.

“Things will work out. He was just being an asshole. You know how he is. He thought that you had broken up with him.”

“Wait! What?! No! I told him I wasn't leaving him-”

Another female voice joins in quickly.

“Apparently he didn't see it that way. That's why he didn't go and see you. I can't tell you how many times he'd come round having caught the bus from your house. He said that he needed some time, that he was sure you were over, that he'd woken up in the house one time to see all your shit packed up and your sorry ass in a taxi.”

Frank knows enough of his daughter's personalities to know that the second voice must be Michelle, and she doesn't sound happy. His imagination can go to hell. He's had weirder dreams, sure, but all he wants is to open his eyes and see Gerard and know this is real. He doesn't want to hear the guilt in his voice. Doesn't want to hear the pain there as he thinks that it is his fault. The voices, however, slip away and change, distorting into something else and Frank gets lost again, the dream fading.

*

His lungs hurt, but for the first time in a while he is able to find the strength to open his eyes a fraction. The light is too bright around him, burning the ghosts and hazy dreams from his head. Things spin and he can't draw a decent breath. Then Frank notices the fingers trailing slowly down his back, circling over the ink and tracing the memories there. He wants to talk, wants to scream, to do anything, but the most he can muster is a cough that tears at him, forcing his knees up in pain.

“Frankie? Baby? You awake?”

Again, Gerard's voice plagues him, but this time, it's so much closer and so much louder, so much more believable. More than anything Frank wishes he could reply and play along to an unscripted role.

“Hey, shhh, it's okay. Just breathe, baby, just breathe.” And then there is a kiss to his temple and his hair been pushed back from his clammy forehead. “Just sleep okay. I'm here. I'm always here.”

It seems like such a sweet promise, but Frank knows oh too well that it is not the case, not now. Pins and needles start to work their way up his body and he wants to scream. He doesn't want to leave. Not now. He thrashes about and is rewarded with the blurry image of Elizabeth looming in front of him, a needle in hand. It's enough to shock him into accepting that maybe what he was experiencing was real and that for the first time in a while he was surrounded by the people he loves the most. He barely notices the needle sink in, all he knows is that he is leaving and that he is going to wake up, somewhere, sometime far away from this. His hearing becomes filled with static-like mess but through it he is able to hear Gerard's frantic pleas of “Don't go, please, don't leave me again, please, Frankie. You have to stay. Try, just fucking _try_.” It seems so simple when phrased like that. So Frank tries. He really does, and it hurts like hell. Worse than hell. But he needs to stay, needs to see their faces, hear their voices clearly.

It works.

The intense sensations dwindle down to almost nothing, and for the first time, he opens his eyes wide with a gasp as the adrenaline hits him. It's not just the drugs running through his system that knock what little breath he has from him, it's the warm press of another familiar body against his and it is all too surreal.

“Frank, Frankie. Oh, God, I missed you so much. I was so worried. You nearly _died_ , if I hadn't found you in the tube station when I did...” Gerard trails off as he presses hot and insistent kisses to his forehead and cheeks. In the background Frank is all too aware of the sounds of his daughters arguing, but before he can open his mouth to attempt to speak, Gerard quickly gets up and with a quick “I'll be right back” slips out of the room.

“What's going on?” Frank can hear Gerard demand.

“Liz here fucked up, she forgot to take into account that our father is a fucking _time traveller_ who doesn't like to stick around for ages, especially when he's sick.”

“And she fixed it,” Gerard insists. “He's here still and he's awake. It's not like she has time traveling patients on a regular basis and he's not going anywhere.”

“Yeah, for now,” Michelle counters before Elizabeth cuts her off, her voice low and a little shaky. “I... I should've known but the thing is I can't keep... there is... I don't know where to draw the line with him. His body reacts too differently with things, but if he leaves now, he's fucked, but I don't know how to make him stay.”

“He won't leave. Not on purpose at least.” Frank is struck by how sure Gerard sounds and it fills him with a strange sense of hope. Sleep, however, tugs him down, making his eyelids heavy and his thick lungs slow.

When Frank awakes next, it is to a strange warmth beside him. When he eventually finds the strength to open his eyes, all he can see is the outline of Gerard pressed softly next to him. Frank hates that his voice doesn't want to work and that his lungs can't seem to draw in enough breath. It's frustrating and painful. Gerard, however, seems to be able to read minds and traces his fingers over his throat and down his chest.

“How you feeling?” he asks softly. “Sore?”

Frank nods. It feels inexplicably good to have Gerard's warm hands against his skin, as though their heat can sink down through his flesh and save him.

“You're gonna get better,” Gerard reassures him before telling him he should sleep.

Shaking his head a few times, Frank coughs long and hard, almost doubling over in pain. He is sick of sleeping, sick of just letting things slip by him. After a few minutes of worried looks from Gerard he is finally able to find his voice. It's harsh and scratchy and barely sounds like him, but he needs to get the words out, knows that Gerard needs to hear them.

“Love you. I'm sorry.”

“No, no. Don't you apologise. Don't you dare.”

Frank flinches a little at the hostility in Gerard's voice back against his warm arms that have encircled him.

“We are not going to do this anymore alright? If this is any confusion again, we are going to assume that we love each other and don't want to be apart, alright?”

Frank wants to ask if Gerard still wants him, still wants _them_ but before he can open his mouth, his sleepy eyed saviour continues. “Before, I didn't want to fight in public, I left the _mall_ , not you, never you. And that whole thing with Lindsey... Look, I moved into an apartment without a shower. You've been here before, I thought you'd know what me moving here meant. This is _our_ place. I mean, I haven't got it all set up yet 'cause I wanted us to do that together.”

Frank wriggles a little uncomfortably before finding his voice again. “You...”

“What?” Gerard replies with his eyebrows raised a little.

“You did all this? For us?”

The smile that Gerard gives him is wide and honest. “I just found a place with a tub and moved our things in. But yeah, I did this for us. And before you even think of asking, I'm not leaving you. Not ever. And neither are the girls.”

“Are you okay? Having them here?” Frank struggles out, eyes wide and heart racing.

“Yeah. Liz and I talk a lot, and I think Michelle and I are working things out.”

It seems too good to be true, especially after the last time they were all together. “Really? Be honest with me.”

“I am,” Gerard replies, his hand still warm on Frank's chest, fingers moving slowly against the base of his throat. “I like them. I'm surprised they like me, but I like them. Even if they are kind of insane at times.”

Frank shakes his head with the little strength he has. “They love you.” He knows that it is the truth and hopes that Gerard knows it now too. The conversation quickly turns back to the usual “I miss you” and “I really missed you” which plagues their usual interactions with each other. Frank learns that Gerard had been looking for him every day. According to him “it's kind of hard searching for someone when you're not sure if they're there at all.”

It hurt. It really hurt seeing the looking in Gerard's eyes when Frank admitted that he had kept getting pulled to this time, to him, that he had been right there. How he had watched as Gerard began a new life and was finally happy. It hits him as he explains all this that he thought they were over, and the Gerard was leaving him but instead, he left him.

“But you're here now,” Gerard explains.

“I know, but I...”

Gerard silences him with one look. “I know. It's alright.”

“I don't know how to fix this,” Frank admits with his eyes averted down.

“You already have.”

*

Frank slowly recovers, his lungs still hurt and he can barely drag in a proper breath but it is an improvement. It feels unbelievably good to be back with Gerard beside him and for the first time in months he feels like he's put back together, like he's no longer fragmented into a hundred, broken pieces. His daughters come and go as they please in the apartment, interrupting and filling the rooms with their loud voices. It feels strange, lying in bed and listening to their echoing conversations.

“I mean, not that Michelle would ever tell you this but she actually knocked him out once, right before she moved out. I don't know why she did it but I came home to her locked in the bathroom. Her and Aaron never really got on, especially after mom married him, apparently because we needed a _stable father figure_ in our lives.” The sounds of dishes being stacked breaks through Elizabeth's narrative. “Which was complete bullshit, as much as dad is hideously irregular he never once hit us, he always listened and was there for us in a way Aaron never really wanted to be. I don't hate the guy, dislike him, yes, but I've moved beyond that now. 'Chel I don't think ever will. She holds grudges like you wouldn't believe.”

“How the hell do you two like me then?” Gerard questions. “Cause if it's just the novelty or the jokes about me being younger than you... It won't hold out forever.”

“I'm not gonna lie, we didn't understand at first, why our daddy was never home and when he was why he'd never kiss our mommy. It was hard, and yeah, he told us that there was someone else. We resented you at first. How could we not? Sure, lots of our friends had divorced parents, but none of them were like ours. We couldn't understand, especially when Dad would drag us to this random bus stop across from your house and watch you play with your younger brother. We couldn't understand that this little boy was what was making him happy, the reason why he and mom weren't together.”

“...You saw me as a kid? Fuck that's weird.”

“Dude! You're telling me!”

There is a small pause before Gerard speaks again, his voice softer now, as though he were cringing slightly. “I'm sorry, you know. I know it's not really my fault, but I'm the reason your parents are split up.”

“No you're not and I really wish you'd stop blaming yourself. Dad explained all of that to us. He showed us with magnets on the fridge and some pins. He magnetised two pins and showed us how one lost its attraction to the other pin 'cause there wasn't enough room and the pins were weak. He explained that the pin was like him and mom, that it was no-one's fault that the pins had stopped attracting each other. The he magnetised something different, I think it was a screw, which is pretty funny now I look back on it.”

Gerard laughs openly as Liz continues, “And the screw stuck, and kept sticking, then he got two nails and they did the same thing. He told us that you were the screw and that the nails were us. But then he tried to make them all stick at once, but the pin was too small and they couldn't all fit at once. I think that's the first time we understood.”

“And that's why I freaked out at the end of last year.”

“Why? Were you scared that we would over-ride it? 'Cause there is two of us? 'Cause we're blood?”

“Now that he has the nails, the screw gets demagnetized. And yeah, two nails that were a package deal. I was sure he'd stop coming to me.”

Elizabeth sighs. “Then he needed to show you the magnet trick too, the screw stuck, Gee. I think sometimes you underestimate how much he loves you. Has he told you that the 'pulling' thing for him is actually stronger with you? So there is no need to worry. Ask him about it sometime, and while you're at it, ask him about why he started time traveling. He's never really told us.”

There is something about Elizabeth's tone that strikes Frank as weird. Even he doesn't know why he started time travelling. He vaguely recalls Gerard asking about it before, but he'd never really sat down and really thought about. Sure, he'd been curious. Everything has a point of origin right? Something must have started this off. But every time he tries to remember back to the first time, it's like a weird dark hole that he can't focus on. He knows that it is probably sometime traumatic, something not _good_ , but other than fucked up genetics, he really has no idea.

The conversation slowly changes, and he can't help but overhear Gerard describing how he had found out about Jamia. Frank can't help but wince. It is still painful after all this time. But he knows that he cannot change it.

Gerard's laugh rings out. “I guess, yeah. More that I get to have him now and know it's real. He's not just some guy messing me around. He gets physically pulled to me from another time. I'm so lucky to have him.”

“Oh my god, just _marry_ him already!”

“Maybe one day,” the grin in Gerard's voice is more than evident. “Nice to know I have your blessing if the time comes though.”

Frank cannot help the smile that stretches at his lips, filling him with a weird warmth that he hasn't felt in months. The feeling hangs around until the topic of Gerard's previous addictions creeps up and he finds out the nasty truth that his daughter has been suffering through something similar. In order to get through med school she had turned to whatever drugs could keep her awake, the irony that she was currently working in a rehab facility is not lost on him or Gerard. It feels weird to catch up on his daughter's life like this – through second hand conversations he isn’t completely sure are happening. Michelle, Frank had found out a few hours ago, was engaged and had already lost her first child. He wonders what other pains and heartbreaks they will have to endure in their lives and feels an overwhelming urge to protect them. It doesn't seem all that long ago that he held them in his arms as warm infants, but the knowledge that they will get through these difficult times and end up with kids of their own is reassuring.

“Are you alright?” Gerard asks when he re-enters the room, taking a seat next to him on the bed.

Frank nods slowly. “Yeah, I guess, I'm just so protective. I was with them when they were not much more than toddlers a few months ago and now they are grown up and have all these _issues_ and I have no idea how to deal with any of that. I lost track of the days hiding from you, you have been the only thing on my mind for months, Gee. This has been the first time I have seen them in maybe 3 months? Longer?”

“You were all I thought about too, that and trying to figure out how I could get you to come back.”

“What did you try?” Frank asks, curious.

“I moved to the apartment you knew we'd share. I left little notes all over the house saying “don't go” in case you appeared inside.” Gerard shrugs before continuing. “I know there's not a hell of a lot I can do.”

Frank can't help but break down at that moment, admitting how utterly _stupid_ he was for sitting and watching, barely sleeping, barely waking, always praying that Gerard would recognize him, that he would be wrong and that he did want him. Before he knows it tears are rolling down his cheeks and Gerard's hands are tightly holding his.

“I should've seen you! I should have looked harder, spent more time searching-”

“And I should've fucking listened and tried harder. I should've gotten off my ass and actually talked to you and not let that time in the apartment put me off. I just freaked, I had previously been with you, in the Jersey house. You told me that you'd always love me and want me, to go home, where ever that was and let you take care of me. The next thing I wake up in Lindsey's apartment and see all your things there... and I hear your voice from the bedroom, so I ran.”

“Oh my god, that was then for you?” Gerard asks.

“I couldn't face it,” Frank admits. “I stopped seeing the twins not too long after that, I mean, I got better for a while, then a cold snap hit New York and I started to get sick again, really sick. All the days started to blur together... and I kept coming back to you, every time, for months.”

“Frank...”

Frank can see the tears gather at Gerard's dark hazel eyes so he grips him as hard as he can. “I'm sorry. I'm not telling this to make you sad. I don't want you to be sad. But you have to know. Now that you've found me... you can't... if you see me, sick, you're not allowed to help me. It's gonna be hard, but that's how it is. Don't try and change it.” He offers a little smile, “Maybe you saving my life was exactly what we both needed, and seeing you, tonight, with the girls, I can't tell you how happy that made me, like all that shit in the past seemed worth it.”

“But...” Gerard seems horrified at the thought of leaving him out in the cold.

“It has to happen like this. I don't know if you even can change it, but I don't want you to.”

“But you're hurting and were actually dying and-”

Frank cuts him off quickly. “It has happened like this, I'm okay with that. You should be too. I'm here, now. You were meant to find me when you did, I'm sure of that. So promise me? Please? You won't go looking for me out there?”

Gerard reluctantly nods before muttering a soft “Promise,” not even able to meet his eyes. With that, Frank feels empty, as though everything has once again been drained from him and he sinks back against the pillows. Something still nags at him. Like a weird, uncomfortable itch, a feeling that he doesn't know the whole truth. It bugs him as he settles into an uneasy sleep with Gerard's warm body pressed against his own.

*

Frank's recovery drags out and by the end of yet another week he is grumpy, stir crazy and pissed off that his own body doesn't work the way he wants it to. Elizabeth has dosed him up on a small mountain of meds, but despite her assurances that he should be gaining strength, not losing it, the way he can barely stand has Gerard talking to various friends, family and doctors in hushed tones when he doesn't think Frank can hear him.

The nagging feeling stays, sinking in his gut and making him feel tired. In a weirdly strange way he is almost relieved when he eventually time travels away. He needs something different than the apologetic look in Gerard's eyes and the bitter self-hating tone in his voice whenever they argue. He knows he is a shitty patient and trying everyone’s patience. He visits the twins as kids, watches from the suburban shrubs as his father leaves again, all the while cursing his fragile, sickly body. He knows that he is beyond fucked if he ends up somewhere new. His legs betray him in the worst possible way, unable to support his weight after a few months of little use. Everything hurts and seeing Jamia for the last time is the biggest kick in the teeth. Frank knows that it is, and watching her like this, as almost a predator from the garden beneath her window as she readies herself for school is unbearable to say the least. She is beautiful in her innocence and almost holy. He feels so low and disgusting in contrast. It is awkward knowing what the future holds for her and he can only hope that she can hang onto the happiness that she will one day find with her daughters. Frank almost wishes that someone was here with him to experience the moment and all it should signify, but as he melts from the manicured lawn he wishes he had the foresight to commit this time to memory.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You guys are the absolute best for sticking with us! You have no idea how much it means to be stuck away from this for so long and be able to come back to open arms. This one has been sitting in my beta folder and on my phone in case I had time for some time but teaching a class full of seven and eight year olds is insanity. And holidays are a lie. But anyway, without further ranting or apologies, hope you have enjoyed this chapter of 'Brave!

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted on LiveJournal, Beta'd by Halequinne and glitter_geek


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